


Fragments of You

by MakaylaJade



Series: Fragments of You [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Self-Harm, Spencer Reid Whump, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Unrequited Love, Violence, at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakaylaJade/pseuds/MakaylaJade
Summary: It was supposed to be a cut-and-dried case. Now, it's anything but. Reid is broken, Morgan is picking up the pieces, and the man responsible is still at large.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Series: Fragments of You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937284
Comments: 56
Kudos: 225





	1. A Night of Repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU is invited to Bloomington to assist local law enforcement with four serial homicides; Reid goes missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! My name is Makayla, and I have decided to share my ideas with all of you by turning them into a work which I am both nervous and excited to publish on here. I am a huge Criminal Minds fan, but in reality, this is just an outlet for me to relieve myself of creative energy. I must warn anyone reading though of potential triggers, which are all tagged. If you are uncomfortable with any of these things, I encourage you to step away from this now since I will not be brushing over any of these topics lightly. But, if you are here for the long run, I sincerely hope you enjoy Fragments of You and I will always appreciate your support!
> 
> Again, please heed the warnings when reading this fanfic.

The night was young, bodies moving as one inside of the nightclub. It was the slightest brush of hands on her waist that gathered Charlotte’s attention. She threw a glance over her shoulder, half drunken from a long night of alcohol and inebriation. It was all in good fun though, and the college senior had only gone out with her friends for a harmless night of entertainment and enjoyment of the risqué activities that life had to offer. Michelle had left nearly an hour ago with a man she had met a few bars ago, but Charlotte and the rest of the group remained on the prowl. Those hands on her waist brought her back to reality, and the sensation of someone’s hips pressing against her almost sobered her up immediately - in a good way, of course.

“I like you,” she heard herself say, her voice barely traveling above the roar of the loud music and other people’s intoxicated dancing. A giggle sounded sometime after, and her dance partner seemed to share her enjoyment, a huff of a laugh sounding near her ear, hot breath instantly sending a shiver of delight down her spine.

“I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” the mystery man said, his hands having found a solid perch on her hips as they swayed together in a way that directly opposed the upbeat music selection of the club. Her hands dropped down to rest over top of his, and before she really realized what was going on, she was being led away from the dance floor and towards the bar. Once seated there, not without nearly missing the barstool the first time, she was pleasantly surprised to see that her companion was handsome, if not a little on the rugged side, but still handsome all the same. Charlotte let her eyes unashamedly look him up and down approvingly, and he simply smiled.

“Thought you might like another drink,” he said, calling the bartender over and ordering himself a gin and tonic while she ordered another cosmopolitan. She was somewhere near five or six, but she wasn’t entirely sure at this point. “I’m Paul.”

“Charlotte,” she instantly introduced herself in response, taking a sip of her fresh cocktail and gazing up through thick lashes, her chestnut locks falling over her shoulders in messy waves, obviously tussled from dancing and the hot lights.

“Charlotte… What do you say we get out of here, hm? Enjoy the night in private,” he suggested, icy eyes locked onto her face. She nodded after taking one last drink, taking the hand he offered her to stand straight, reaching back to adjust the little black dress she wore for the night. She didn’t let go of his hand either, allowing him to lead her out of the club and onto the street where danger lingered around every corner.

Yet she didn’t know that the only danger she had to worry about was currently guiding her away from safety.

Charlotte Lowe wasn’t heard from again.

* * *

Despite his previous spiel of the goodness of being an early riser, Spencer was anything but. He hated mornings, and waking up to the sound of a phone screaming in his ear was not pleasant. He grumbled something incoherent, most likely curses, and pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair a mess atop his head as he blindly reached for his phone. The fluorescent light was too bright for his sleepy eyes and he muttered another string of curses, squeezing them shut for a moment before letting them open again. A call from Hotch, at 4 in the morning? What else should he expect, he didn’t think the older man ever slept.

“This is Reid,” he grumbled after answering the call, making it quite clear that he wasn’t pleased with the way he woke up, but instantly falling into work mode when he realized that Hotch wasn’t calling because he wanted to, but because they had a case that required their immediate attention.

“Make sure you’re here by five, we need to go as soon as possible,” Hotch instructed, and before Spencer even had the opportunity to respond, the line was disconnected and he was grumbling again. He regrettably got out of bed and got ready, combing through his hair messily and deciding it was a lost cause as he walked out the door with his bag crossed over his body.

He stopped at his favorite cafe on his way, deciding that if he was going to be up this early he needed a good cup of coffee in order to function, and soon, he was entering through those heavy glass doors with the FBI insignia etched into them, looking a bit frazzled, more so than usual, but greeting a few of his fellow colleagues with a fond smile even though none of them wanted to be there. So far, only Morgan and JJ were there, but Hotch was probably present too, most likely getting the team ready to travel.

“Morning,” he greeted, meeting Morgan’s eyes briefly before looking down to the coffee cup in his hands. Ever since he had come to terms with his feelings for the slightly older man, he found it somewhat awkward to be around him. Well, he should say that _he_ was awkward around him, not of his own choosing of course. Morgan didn’t think anything of it, thankfully, mainly thinking his odd mannerisms to be comical at best - not concerning in the slightest.

“Any idea why Hotch called us in?” Emily asked as she joined the group, clutching her own go-bag over her shoulder and despite looking a bit tired, she was still in tip-top shape, wearing a slim fitting pantsuit ensemble, her hair as dark as the outfit.

“No idea, all he said was that it was urgent. I imagine it’s a case,” JJ informed with a small frown. Spencer instantly looked up at the sudden movement approaching their group, seeing Hotch approaching along with a frowning Rossi who seemed a bit frustrated judging by the lack of relaxation in his steps. Spencer frowned, his lips pursing just slightly at the appearance of their leader. He was clearly sleep deprived.

“Local law enforcement in Bloomington, Indiana have requested our help. So far, they’ve come across four bodies believed to be victims of a single killer. Garcia will brief us on the jet, we need to get going now,” Hotch said, looking around their close-knit group before they all set out for Bloomington.

“Good morning, my lovelies. Brace yourselves, because this is an icky one,” Garcia’s chipper voice filtered through the speakers before Spencer had even sat down, but he took his seat beside Morgan. Even if he was romantically interested in the man, he couldn’t change routines now. It would only make it more awkward and uncharacteristic of him, so his only choice was to pretend like everything was as usual even if he felt his heart beat a little faster whenever their arms brushed against one another’s. He needed to calm down though. They had a killer to catch, and he couldn’t be preoccupied with thoughts of Morgan while doing so. Being unfocused was dangerous, especially in their line of work. He didn't want to risk the lives of any of his team members, or his own for that matter, so he needed to control himself. Usually he was one of the more composed members of their team under times of stress, but for some reason, Morgan seemed to make him forget his responsibilities without even realizing it.

“Four victims, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty five, found on the doorsteps of local churches and chapels. All with varying signs of torture and mutilation and I’m going to let Hotch take it away because I like being able to sleep at night,” Garcia said dismissively, earning an eye roll from Morgan and Emily couldn’t help but smirk.

“Torture and mutilation, Their genitals were mutilated and their faces were disfigured, most likely from the use of acid,” Hotch supplied effortlessly to which Garcia thanked him briefly before continuing on. Spencer, the ever emotionless agent, didn’t let his disgust show.

“All four victims were college students. We have 18 year old Maya Bangle, 21 year old Joseph Ritz, 25 year old Julie Stein, and 22 year old Michael Woolridge,” Garcia introduced, their pictures appearing on the screen as she listed off their names.

“Mixed victimology,” Rossi pointed out, “He clearly doesn’t have a preference for male or female.”

“But he has a thing for brunettes,” Emily mentioned.

“Was there any evidence of sexual assault?” Reid questioned, a hand perched underneath of his chin as he looked over the crime scene photos in each of their files.

“Inconclusive. The mutilation was too severe for the M.E. to determine. But Reid, I want you and Morgan to head to the morgue. See if there’s anything the M.E. might have missed. Dave, take Prentiss with you to the most recent crime scene. JJ and I will get set up at the precinct,” Hotch said with a firm nod of his head.

The rest of the flight went by quickly, and before he knew it, Reid was alone with Morgan in one of their government-issued SUVs, sitting rather uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Morgan didn’t let this go unnoticed either, his eyes scanning over the smaller male for any visible cause of his discomfort.

“Did I do something?” Derek asked, a bit of a bite to his tone that Reid nearly flinched away from, but he knew that would only draw more attention to his unusual behavior. He turned his head, managing to meet Morgan’s eyes for a brief second before looking down again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he quickly dismissed, only for Morgan to sigh. He parked the SUV outside of the M.E.’s office, but before Reid had the opportunity to slip out, Morgan turned to face him from the driver’s seat, raising a hand and gesturing to Reid in his entirety.

“Oh, really?” He started, a frown on his lips while his brows pinched downwards in a way that Spencer quickly identified as aggravation. Morgan was frustrated with him… More so his current behavior, but regardless, Spencer felt a twinge of pain in his chest at that realization. “Because something is going on. You’ve looked at me a total of two times today, Reid. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Reid said, his lips pursing in a way that expressed his nervousness, his eyes flitting upwards once more to meet Morgan’s eyes before he turned away entirely and opened the car door. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

The M.E. didn’t reveal any new information, although to say that these people had been tortured was an understatement. There were clear signs of mutilation all over the bodies, ranging from bruises to cuts to burns. The M.E. confirmed that a knife had been used, but that wasn’t surprising and also didn’t help them narrow down their possible suspect pool. Knives were accessible to anyone. So, therefore, unhelpful.

The tension didn’t go away between him and Morgan though, and Spencer was quickly running out of ideas regarding how to explain away his abnormal behavior to Morgan. _I’m in love with you and every time I even look at you my heart races and my hands shake. I feel clammy and uncomfortable and its_ your _fault that I can’t think straight,_ wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to get it together or face Morgan’s undeniably dangerous wrath.

Regardless, the case kept them from really communicating, because as soon as they arrived at the station, Reid was asked to start a geographical profile and Morgan took part in interviewing the families. This kept them away from each other for a decent amount of time, but as soon as they landed back in Quantico, the interrogation would start and Reid would run out of options. His sympathetic nervous system would go into overdrive and his amygdala would undergo so many different emotions that his body would probably just shut down. While that wouldn’t actually happen, he knew the risk of passing out was possible, but Spencer would probably die from mortification and he couldn’t let that happen. Not if Morgan was going to be his sole audience.

At first, he assumed it was going to be an easy case, but that wasn’t the case. None of the disposal sights made any sense. One would assume that since the bodies were left in front of places of worship, their was some sort of religious significance to the victims and the M.O. But that wasn’t apparent. Nothing seemed to be making sense regarding the disposal sights despite the fact that the bodies were found almost immediately. Something else that threw Spencer for a loop was the fact that while the first three victims were reported missing nearly a week before their bodies were found, the last victim, Michael Wooldridge, had been missing for nearly three months before his body was found. The timelines didn’t add up and Spencer needed a break. Coffee was his immediate solution, and stepping out of the conference room was a breath of fresh air that he didn’t realize he needed. He stood still for just a few moments, taking time to let his brain relax only for his breath to catch in his throat when he saw Morgan just across the room, communicating with Hotch and the local detective. He lowered his head and quickly moved past them to get a fresh cup of coffee from the break room, loading it up with sugar before returning to the conference room where he was safe and back in his element away from confusing emotions and tension.

After nearly two more hours of working the geographical profile and brainstorming, Spencer had hit a rock. His colleagues didn’t seem any more enlightened than him; there was no apparent connections between their victims, and only two of them had attended the same university, but even then, they were different years and majors. The families weren’t connected and only two of them were local, the others having traveled all the way here to identify the bodies. Not even the their lives on social media overlapped, and the team felt like they were hitting a rock.

So it was at that point that Hotch suggested they retire for the night and come back in the morning with a fresh perspective. Maybe they could see something new then, and although Spencer usually viewed suspending the investigation as giving up, he couldn’t agree more. He needed a break, since he could already feel a headache pulsing in his temples. The team left the precinct together, and despite his misgivings regarding the rooming situation, he ended up with Morgan of course. They normally shared a room, but ever since Spencer had grew aware of his feelings for the other man, his awkwardness made it a near painful experience. To spare himself the embarrassment, stopped Morgan just before they entered their room.

“I’m going to step out for a bit, clear my head,” he informed him, earning a somewhat suspicious glance over from the dark skinned man only for him to huff in slight frustration and enter the room with a shake of his head, closing it behind him and promptly leaving Reid alone in the hotel hallway.

Reid couldn’t be more thankful for some time to clear his head though. He was used to working himself to exhaustion, so finally having a few minutes to spare himself a breath of fresh air and silence was reassuring. He did as he said he would and found himself standing in front of the hotel, leaning back against an empty planter, the flowers that were once growing inside having died and dried up months ago. He paid them no mind though, busying himself with possible theories of their unsub, ranging from an anger excitation rapist to a misogynist with an apparent distaste for feminine men as well. It wasn’t comforting to know that he fit that description, and despite his best efforts to prevent it, those thoughts of Morgan bubbled into his conscience. He knew he never stood a chance with Morgan, since to Spencer, Derek had always been a ladies’ man, and as long as he had known him, he had never seen the man hold interest in another man before. Derek wasn’t gay, Spencer knew that, and while he somewhat hoped that their closeness would blur the lines of his heterosexuality, he knew it was unlikely if not impossible. It was painful, to think that the man he was in love with would never even spare him a glance, but it was something that Reid could live with. Being able to work alongside Derek was enough, and if he had to shove those feelings of affection into the very back of his mind, he would. Even then though, he would never forget - he never forgot anything, and the pain from it now would only come back to haunt him in the future. 

_Get it together, Spencer._

It was within those self deprecating moments of thought that he felt a hand brush over his shoulder, and he was suddenly face to face with another man, only slightly taller than him with handsome features and piercing blue eyes, quite unlike his own hazel hues.

“Sorry about that, man, you just looked really pale and lightheaded, I thought you might fall,” the stranger said, the hand on his shoulder never falling away. Spencer swallowed dryly, his eyes raising somewhat nervously, dark lashes fluttering in a way that seemed to express his slight confusion and apprehension. He knew this man. Lieutenant MacMillan. He was one of the officers at the precinct, and in fact, he had brought him coffee several times throughout the day while he worked on his geographical profile, offering him his assistance should he ever need it.

“Sorry… I’m sorry, I was just lost in thought, I guess,” Spencer said with a tight lipped smile, stepping away from the other man’s hand on his arm, clearly uncomfortable with the touch. He had never been comfortable with foreign contact, and the incident with Hankel definitely hadn’t helped him. That had been several years ago now, but to this today, he preferred to go without physical contact, especially from strangers. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, and his obsession with germs gave him a sense of uncleanliness that he couldn’t shake away.

“I get that… Say, did you want to get a drink? Might help you relax a bit,” MacMillan offered in a way that didn’t suggest any suspicion. But Spencer wasn’t a drinker, and after his previous addiction, he didn’t like to mess around with any sort of intoxicating substances. Even when he went out with the rest of the team, he opted for sodas or even virgin cocktails - but never alcohol. He didn’t want to tempt himself with an addictive substance which could potentially act as a gateway for his drug of choice. It was too dangerous, and he cared far too much about his own livelihood to risk that happening again.

“No, I-I don’t drink. Besides, I should be getting some rest,” Reid said, turning to step away in the direction of the hotel, only for that hand to return to his bicep, the grip less than friendly. Spencer felt endangered, and just as he turned to look back at the lieutenant, a prick in his lower jugular elicited a soft gasp from his lips, his knees buckling beneath him within seconds of the injection.

“Wrong answer.”

Spencer didn’t make it back to the hotel room that night.


	2. Visions of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek realizes something is wrong; Reid is assaulted by the man who holds him captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings

Derek Morgan woke up that morning feeling surprisingly refreshed and sated. Normally he didn’t sleep very well in beds that weren’t his own, but this one was certainly an exception. It took him a moment to rouse himself from sleep to realize that he was alone in the hotel room, which at first seemed normal to him only for him to remember that he and Reid were supposed to be _sharing_ this room. He pushed himself up into a sitting position immediately, his bare torso contrasting greatly against the off-white sheets and bedding. Something was wrong, and it was ever more apparent when he noticed that Reid’s go back was nowhere to be seen and his satchel was gone too.

If the satchel was gone, than Reid was gone too. But where? He checked his phone for the time, seeing that it was nearing six. If he knew anything about the younger man after working with him for years now, it was that Reid hated mornings.

So why would he get up earlier than necessary?

Morgan shot out of bed and burst from the room, hardly caring for modesty at this point. He shouted Hotch’s name far louder than he probably should have, and within seconds, doors on both sides of the corridor swung open inwards and the temporary residents residing behind those doors came out in a hurry, Hotch being the first of course with Rossi following close behind.

“Morgan? What’s going on?” Hotch said, and despite the fact that he was in a tee shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, his tone carried authority. He looked concerned obviously, but anyone who knew Hotch would be able to tell that he was slightly offset by the rude awakening.

“It’s Reid, man, he never came back to our room last night,” Morgan said, raising his arms to run his hand over his shaved head, his eyes wide with fear and concern. Was it his fault that Reid didn’t make it back? He didn’t want to think like that, but it was clear that something was bothering the young genius and he had let him go without even trying to intervene. They all knew that Reid’s mind could be both a curse and a blessing, but many times they blew that off in favor of utilizing him as a resource rather than a physical being with feelings and instincts. Morgan was guilty of that too, just as the rest of them were, but in a way he felt like he was partially responsible for Reid. Reid wasn’t good with feelings and emotions, which was why he preferred facts and statistics; things that could be proven with science and research. This was bad. Morgan hated the lack of control.

“What do you mean he never came back?” Hotch asked. It was then that JJ and Emily emerged from their shared room, the two women looking less than pleased but ready to get to work.

“Reid?” JJ questioned, her own concern apparent in the near whisper of their youngest colleague’s name. Emily didn’t speak, her dark brows shooting up to her hairline at the prospect that Reid was missing.

“He said he needed to clear his head and would only be a few minutes. I fell asleep before he came back but I just thought…” Morgan trailed off, looking down with a newfound expression of extreme worry.

“Alright, everybody stay calm, I’m sure Reid is fine. You know how the kid is, he gets lost in that big head of his and sometimes loses track of time,” Rossi tried to reason, only for Morgan to vehemently shake his head in dismissal.

“No. Kid wouldn’t do that. Not in the middle of an active case.”

That seemed to seal the deal for Hotch, who instantly retrieved his phone and dialed up Garcia who answered with a less than chipper good morning since she was obviously just waking herself, and if Morgan knew her, than she probably passed out on the catch in her den of technology.

“Garcia, I need Reid’s location,” he barked without question.

“Boy wonder?” Garcia questioned, left with a flurry of emotions and concerns as she did as she was told, “Reid’s missing?”

“Location, Garcia!”

“I-I have him just outside of the hotel, sir. His phone is still pinging, so it should be turned on still!” Garcia exclaimed, her voice echoing from the speaker. That was all Morgan needed though, he rushed down the hall and opted to taking the stairs down three flights since that would be quicker than waiting for a damned elevator. The team followed close behind, Prentiss calling his name as if it were a warning. Morgan found himself outside, barefoot and shirtless in downtown Bloomington, looking about hopelessly.

“Call his phone!” He shouted to no one in particular. Someone must have though, because several feet away, in the empty planter in front of the hotel, the familiar ringing of Reid’s phone hummed. Derek approached with an expression of horror on his face, picking it up carefully like it were a piece of hot metal. A hand rose to his shoulder, and he turned to see Hotch, the expression on his face certainly not one of relief. Their boy genius was gone, and nobody could even explain why or how this had happened. It had only been their first day on the case - had they attracted the unsub’s attention that soon? It couldn’t have been that quick…

Derek was left with the vivid image of Reid, young, brilliant Doctor Spencer Reid, being taken against his will, Morgan’s name on his lips as he faded away.

* * *

When Reid felt his consciousness returning to him, he was left more confused than he ever thought he could be. It was like his mind was playing tricks on him, telling him that he wasn’t actually here and that this was all just a figment of his wild imagination. Maybe it was a nightmare that he was suffering - after the instances of trauma he had experienced, it was common for him to wake from nightmares, shivering and gasping for air that felt like poison in his lungs. But that wasn’t this. He knew that feeling, and as disappointing as it was, that was a feeling he was familiar with. But this? He was confused, his vision was blurry and his eyes watered, his hands felt sticky, and it felt like a _pendulum_ was cracking his skull with each sway. A groan passed his lips, his hands clenching and unclenching as he grew aware of his body and the perceived injuries he had. His head was one thing, but the cold touch of the air against his bare skin was almost relaxing. He attempted to take in a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut at the pain that immediately erupted within his chest. Okay. Ribs were definitely not in good shape, possibly broken, but he couldn’t be for certain.

His legs were a bit sore, but nothing too concerning there. Spencer noticed he was still dressed, thankfully, aside from his sweater vest which had been removed somewhere along the way. His converse were still tied securely to his feet, and even his watch remained. He felt a strain in his shoulders, and when he tried to lift up his arms, the metallic rattling of chains caught his attention. He threw a glance back and saw that his hands were chained together in a rather sloppy fashion, but ultimately, he was chained to a wooden post in the center of the room which continued up into the peak of the ceiling. The room was a-shaped, and his best guess said it was an attic. There was a small window on the opposite side of the post, and it was nearly hidden behind boxes and old furniture, almost antique in nature. He saw the small hatch in the floor off to his side, only about ten feet away, but even then, it was too far for him to even think about reaching. Everything was covered in a thick sheen of dust, which easily explained the itchiness of his eyes.

He returned his attention back to the chains around his wrists, and keeping in mind the way they were entwined, he began to struggle against the heavy chains. With just a few maneuvers, he was able to bring his hands around to his front, but no further than his lap. The chain was only so long, and he felt a bit defeated when he realized he could do no more.

Except his eyes quickly rose when he saw movement in his peripheral, and in both horror and curiosity, he watched as a figure rose from the lifted hatch in the floor, securing it down when he was standing just feet away from Reid. It scared him when it took him a few seconds to place a name to the face, but he quickly realized that it was Lieutenant Paul MacMillan from the local police department. His lashes fluttered as a sneeze overcame him from the dust, and this only seemed to intrigue MacMillan.

“Allergic to me, huh?” He said in a way that could almost be deemed friendly, teasing, but there was an undertone of threatening danger that Reid quickly picked up, only because he was trained to do so. A civilian probably wouldn’t have noticed how demented the man was, but Reid knew danger, and currently it was running a hand down the back of his neck.

“Why, Lieutenant?” Reid questioned, his voice hardly a whisper as he looked up at the other man, a cup approaching his dry lips. With a subtle sniff, Reid didn’t smell any chemicals, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be drugged. Then again, why would MacMillan go through all the trouble of kidnapping him if he was just going to kill him? Reid reluctantly drank from the cup, the lukewarm tap water soothing his scratchy throat.

“I thought you might ask that,” MacMillan said almost humorously, rolling his eyes a bit. “You’re a profiler. Aren’t you supposed to _know_ why I do what I do? Or am I that much of an enigma to you people?”

Reid wasn’t sure if that was a challenge or a series of rhetorical questions. He swallowed nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. What they had gathered so far regarding their unsub was that he was a narcissistic psychopath with an inferiority complex suffering from a sexual identity crisis. It was possible that he was homosexual, or bisexual, but was suffering from the repercussions attached to such a label, like judgement of others or the perceived immorality of that behavior. It could have contrasted directly with his own self image, and it was likely that he was abused or bullied because of it. Even with such a profile, some of which Reid had developed right there in the attic, it had been difficult to find someone based on their sexuality if they hid from it. How on earth was his team going to get him out of this one if their unsub was working directly alongside them? How had MacMillan managed to keep his job with the killings… The timeline was confusing, but he already wasn’t thinking straight, so that could be his potential hurdle.

“You, um…” Reid stopped, waiting to see if MacMillan stopped him, which he didn’t. He was a narcissist after all; he wanted to hear everything Reid had to say about him. He continued onwards despite his apprehension, “You’re a narcissist with a sexual identity issue… Y-You’re gay, or bi, and you’re struggling with feelings of guilt and disgust after you have sex with other men… which is why you kill them. You try with women but they just don’t… _work_ for you, so you kill them too because of your embarrassment.”

MacMillan was quiet for a few moments, slowly shaking his head as his gaze rose up towards Reid’s face, that hand that had once been on the back of his neck having traveled upwards to entangle itself in his messy, sweat-soaked hair.

“It’s not right,” he spoke quietly, only to grasp onto Reid’s hair tightly, drawing a gasp from his lips at the sudden pain erupting in his scalp as MacMillan glowered down at him, those icy eyes as sharp as daggers and aflame with pure rage. “ _It’s not right!_ ”

Reid’s body was flung backwards, and he yelped as his head collided with the wooden post. That pendulum came back, flaring through his brain as he felt a warmth trickle down the back of his neck. Reid took a shaky inhale, half expecting his lungs to collapse only to look up with darkened eyes, full lips parted slightly as he inhaled shaky, uncertain breaths. MacMillan paced several feet away, and a glint of silver caught Reid’s attention. At first he feared it might be a gun, but he was only partially relieved to see that it was in fact a flask. His head slowly, very slowly, came back to rest against the post. He needed to get out of this… situation. He might not make it to see Morgan tomorrow and explain why he was acting so strangely. He might not see _any_ of his teammates again, or Henry, or his Mom. Mom… What would she think about this? He was in a dangerous situation again, and it seemed that no matter how many times he promised her he would be careful, he continuously got hurt or damaged himself in some way that contradicted his vow to her. He felt guilty, despite the fact that he had no control over this situation. The aching in his head nearly made him forget where he was, but the returned grip to his hair reminded him quickly, his reality shifting as his head was jerked backwards, once against clacking against the wooden post. He hissed, but he kept his eyes locked onto MacMillan so as to not miss anything that crossed the other male’s face. He couldn’t afford to be negligent, not when his life depended on it.

“You remind me of Michael,” MacMillan said in a low voice, raising his other hand to brush his fingers along Spencer’s cheek, cupping the underside of his jaw and seeming to take in the appearance of the other man with little scrutiny. Spencer felt his eyes begin to water, and against his will, a tear fell down his pale face, a few more following suit as his lids closed to hide the world from sight. He knew what was happening. He knew the M.O., the methods, he was familiar with _everything_. He never thought he would fall victim to it though. But after all, who did?

“Pale skin, dark hair… His eyes were prettier than yours though, an emerald green. I wonder if you’ll sound as beautiful as he did when he screamed,” he said, his voice falling to a mere whisper at his last statement. Spencer couldn’t give this man what he wanted. He couldn’t satisfy his homicidal desires, but he felt like his reserve might crack. Tobias had once had him in his hands, and his life dripped from his fingers like honey. He suffered minimally with Tobias, and the drugs had certainly helped to make his death a relatively painless experience. But this… This would be pain. With MacMillan, he would experience true hell, rather than the one Charles had envisioned for him.

Those hands left him for only a moment, soon returning to manipulate his body how MacMillan wanted him. On his stomach, with his hands forced behind his back once more, he felt small, fragile, _weak._

_I’m not weak._

There was a rustle behind him, the sound of a zipper and more shuffling. His eyes were open again, but his visual was solely in his mind. He saw everything happening from an outside perspective, as a bird looking through the window. Birds reminded him of Gideon. Maybe memories of Gideon could help him through this. It had been so long since he had seen the older man, and he often craved that fatherly attention that had been absent from his childhood. Would that make it less painful?

_Not weak._

He felt hands on his own hips, flinching violently at the contact only for a strike to his lower back to bring hi a groan burning in his throat. His pants were undone, the metal clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor near his head before his pants soon followed. The touching alone was painful, and it was a precursor of what was about to happen to him. They were surprisingly gentle, tracing over his bony hips and along his waist, coming to his front and violently ripping his shirt open on his hands’ descent downwards. He felt a sob building, but he refused to give MacMillan what he wanted. It would only urge him forward, as the profile suggested; he was a sexual sadist, of course.

“You don’t have to do this,” Reid tried to reason, a hand quickly to grip the underside of his chin, his neck, and forcing his head back to look at his captor. His breathing was quickening, his heart throbbing, and it felt like he might be hyperventilating.

  
“Oh, but I do, Spencer.”

Morgan never thought he was weak. Even though he was just a kid to Derek, he never questioned his ability in the field. In order to do their job successfully, trust was crucial. Being able to rely on each other was almost half of the job, because if they didn’t trust one another with their lives, the team wouldn’t exist. It would crumble from the very foundation itself, and never before had Morgan expressed discontent in trusting Reid with his life. Maybe this was a brutal form of karma, and like he had abandoned his mom, maybe his team was abandoning him. The other man seemed to take his time, tracing his hands over the ridges of Spencer’s spine through his skin all the way down to the elastic waistband of his boxers. He ignored the feeling as best as he could, but suddenly, MacMillan’s hands disappeared and a sharp slash down his side replaced them. It hurt, and he gasped at the pain, tears falling effortlessly now while MacMillan seemed to play with the blood that bubbled up to the surface, tracing his wet fingers over Spencer’s back like he was fucking finger painting. He repeated the process at least four more times, it might have been more, but Spencer lost track, and soon enough, his pale skin was coated with crimson. None of the cuts were incredibly deep though, but they certainly were enough for Spencer to feel physically ill.

“Beautiful,” MacMillan mumbled to himself, saying many other seemingly innocent praises to himself as he continued on. The blade slipped down to his boxers, and MacMillan worked on cutting the undergarment off rather than simply slipping them down - it was obvious he had a thing for knives, and the several nicks he left in his wake excited him. Spencer didn’t want to be here anymore. Derek was the only thing he could think of that kept him from lashing out. He couldn’t fight against an unsub with a knife. It was foolish and he had to play along with his fantasy if he wanted to even think of making it out alive.

“I want to see your face, baby. Let me just…” MacMillan tossed him onto his back, his hands paying the price as his own body weight crushed them against the wooden flooring. His hands were adjusted though, instead forced above his head, the links digging into his wrists. Spencer let his head come down to rest on the floor, his eyes now forced to look at his assailant. His face was flushed, cheeks blotchy from his tears.

“Perfect,” he said, fitting himself between Spencer’s legs. His jeans were around his knees by now, his boxers pushed down too. The bastard was enjoying this… He was already hard, and Spencer felt disgusting. MacMillan’s fingers dipped into one of the deeper cuts, a whimper of pain sounding from the smaller male as his blood dripped over his torso, his genitals, and it became apparent what he intended on doing. He used his blood as a lubricant, and Reid felt like he might be sick.

He didn’t know when it happened, but when MacMillan forced his way inside, the pain never seemed to stop. His eyes were wide open, overflowing with tears, his hands trembling above his head and his legs quivering on either side of MacMillan. His mind checked out, his reality blurred, and his virginity was ripped from him in a way that left him breathless.

_I’m not weak._


	3. Somewhere in the Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team rushes to find Spencer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the warnings.

“It just doesn’t make sense, Hotch,” Morgan was saying, his head in his hands. They all sat at the conference table in the precinct, the rest of the team feeling exactly as Morgan. They hadn’t found much, but Garcia was working on getting the hotel security footage now, and if they could identify the man who took Reid, they could find him faster. The victimology was making a bit more sense since the team began to connect the dots as Reid had done, and they noticed the pattern. Brunettes with petite builds, pretty faces, feminine characteristics for the males, and personalities that all leaned towards the introverted side of the spectrum. It fit Reid rather well, despite the fact that he was more than just a “type.” JJ didn’t like the idea of including Reid in their victimology, but in truth, that’s exactly what he was - a victim.

“Garcia, have you gathered anything from the hotel security feed?” Hotch asked, his fingers drumming along the file of the most recent murder, Michael Wooldridge, who had only been found a day ago. He resembled Reid quite a bit, in appearance anyway, because nobody could compare to their resident genius.

“I-I’ve scanned every pixel of this thing, but our unsub is one smart cookie. Check your email, I sent it to you,” she said with obvious frustration, the sound of her fingers flying across the keys carrying through the speaker call. Hotch opened up the laptop the precinct had supplied them and pulled up the security footage. For a few minutes, they could only see Reid, but a car pulls up in the corner of the video, its license plate unreadable from the angle. A man steps out, keeping his head down as he approaches Reid, his back to the camera by the time he makes it to Reid’s side. Reid acknowledges the man in a way that suggests familiarity.

“It looks like Reid knows the guy,” Prentiss points out for anyone who happened to miss Reid’s sometimes hard-to-read body language.

“Yeah… Look, he doesn’t flinch from the touch, he must know him,” JJ adds when their unsub puts a hand on Reid’s shoulder. It’s obvious he’s not quite comfortable with it, but he doesn’t shake it off immediately.

The video continues on and within moments, the exchange clearly changes direction when Reid begins to step away dismissively. It was then they witness the moment Reid was drugged, the needle piercing his neck and bringing Spencer to his knees almost immediately. At that moment, Morgan’s eyes squeezed shut, releasing a heavy exhale of obvious anger. He pushed his chair out rather unceremoniously, his force knocking it backwards as he began to pace, running his hands over his head again as he tended to do in times of stress. A grim expression resided on Hotch’s face, but Rossi seemed a bit questionable.

“You weren’t able to get a license plate number?” He questioned, hands folded on the table. He was the one who still kept his cool, but that was probably because he had known Reid the shortest amount of time. At first, he wasn’t very fond of the kid, mainly because he thought him to be a bit annoying and far too childish for this line of work. But as he got to know him more, got to know his story, it was clear that Reid belonged here in the BAU. This was his home, and they wouldn’t function the same without him. The kid had been missing for less than 10 hours and the team was already falling apart. He read about Reid’s previous abduction in his file, and had heard about his previous addiction through Hotch. Reid couldn’t get a break - it was his fragility that screamed weakness to others, and that was what continued to get him into trouble.

“No, the plate isn’t in the frame and he speeds off too quickly for me to even see it clearly. The most I can get is a partial,” she said, leaving the team disappointed. “I _can_ tell you that it’s a dark colored sedan. There’s a dent in the passenger side fender.”

“It’s something,” Prentiss hummed, glancing over towards Morgan who had stilled in his pacing, his brows pinched inwards while his eyes stayed shut. Morgan couldn’t think of anything other than Reid, and how he acted last night. He wasn’t himself, clearly, and he should have noticed something was wrong. He should have just pressured Reid into talking to him that night in the privacy of their hotel room - at least that way he could have assured his safety and prevented this from ever happening. It was moments like these that he questioned his relationship with the younger man. They treated each other like brothers, because as much as they trusted one another they also held grudges towards each other, harmless of course, but even still, it often made Morgan wonder about his feelings for the other. He always treated Reid like a kid, mainly because of the eight year age gap between them, and even though he sometimes questioned Reid’s maturity, his intelligence wasn’t something to be second guessed.

“It is?” Morgan questioned, growing more and more frustrated by the minute, “Spencer is gone with some fucking psycho and all we have is a _possible_ description of a car from a decade-old security footage?”

“Morgan,” Hotch warned, only for Morgan to spin towards him, hands dropping down to his sides in fists. He had used Reid’s first name, something that took them all a little by surprise since that wasn’t commonplace among them, but it was clearly because Morgan was _scared_ , just like the rest of them were for their colleague - their friend.

“ _Hotch_ ,” Morgan said in response, his voice raising in volume at the sheer anger, “We have absolutely nothing, and if we lose Reid _again_ , I just… I can’t do it, man. We need to find him.”

“We will, Morgan. We will,”

It was at that moment the local detective, Steven Meyers, entered the conference room, and he clearly had news to share. It was important too, judging by the way he didn’t even bother for greetings. The entire team was at attention, and Hotch slowly rose from his seat with a somewhat confused yet curious expression on his hardened features. Before he had a chance to say anything though, the detective explained his reasoning for the intrusion:

“We found a body.”

* * *

By the time MacMillan was done with him, Spencer was cold, afraid, and in pain. It was like his body had been torn apart from the inside, and that warm stickiness on his thighs was undoubtedly evidence of that. He felt disgusting, and the instant desire to fill his veins with chemicals overtook him. A shudder ran down his spine. He had gone so long without craving, and he felt an immediate sense of shame overcome him. _Once an addict, always an addict_ , he thought bitterly. Even though his addiction had only lasted about three months, he still faced the repercussions from it two years later. It was still fresh in his memory, that lone night in rural Georgia, but that didn’t compare at all to this. He had been… assaulted. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of what just happened. It was too soon, too raw. Everything hurt.

His team would find him soon enough. They had too. He was too young to die, and he couldn’t even fathom the idea of his friends - his _family,_ finding his deceased body naked, brutalized, skin shredded and face mutilated. A sob sounded, and at first, Spencer didn’t even recognize it as himself. It was an outlandish sound, something foreign that the young genius couldn’t comprehend at first, but he didn’t know if that was because of the likely concussion he now had or his simple lack of understanding. He almost tricked himself into believing that death was better than this, but with Morgan still out there, he couldn’t do it. Derek was looking for him, and he had to believe that this wasn’t over. He wasn’t dead, at least not yet, and he couldn’t stop fighting regardless of the pain that overtook his entire frame or the dried blood coating his bare torso. His legs were trembling and he realized that he hadn’t shifted positions even after MacMillan had left. He was laying on his back on the attic floor, legs spread apart and bent slightly at the knees. His hands were still changed together, resting over his chest, and the gentle, slightly elevated _thump_ of his heartbeat was both assuring and disappointing. Assuring because he was still alive. Disappointing because he had lived through that hell.

His head had fallen to the side, his cheek resting against the cold wooden floorboards while his gaze was entrapped by the dim light that came in through the small, partially hidden window. That was his only solace, that damned window, but it served as a reminder that this wouldn’t last. It would end soon, and even if he had to suffer for days on end, he would make it out of this one way or another. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the assault again though… Physical injuries were one thing, and while the knife certainly wasn’t preferable, he feared he would dissociate completely if he were sexually assaulted again.

He hadn’t dissociated entirely before. It was easy to slip in and out of reality, focusing on abstract thoughts of complex equations or philosophical pondering of existence and awareness. There was only one thing he could do though; endure. Given the ability to endure meant he was given the chance to overcome. Like Frida Kahlo said, “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.” Clinging onto the words of people who had never experienced what he was experiencing would be difficult, but he could try. He would damned sure try.

The sound of the hatch lifting up and the creak of weight against the attic floor brought Spencer out of his head, and his eyes slowly closed so that he could prepare himself for whatever was to come.

_You are stronger than him. He cannot break you_.

It felt like he was in that cemetery all over again, strapped to a chair and hearing Gideon’s amplified voice coming in through the computer speakers. It was what he needed right now, and while his eidetic memory was helpful with words, that didn’t mean it could replay audio clips. God, how he wished it could.

“I had to kill her, you know,” MacMillan’s voice broke through his conscience again, and Reid was both confused and afraid of the underlying meaning of that statement. There was another? Where had she been? It was unlikely for an unsub with a predictable behavior model to have more than one spot for his victims, but that only supported Reid’s theory that MacMillan was anything but predictable. Spencer lifted his head, and he could see that MacMillan was in his police uniform, wearing it with false pride that almost made him nauseous. His eyes followed his assailant as he approached almost hesitantly before dropping to a crouch just above Reid’s head.

“Now that I have you, I just couldn’t look at her anymore. You’re just so beautiful, Spencer, and she dulled in comparison to you. It’s _your_ fault that she’s dead. Yours, not mine!” He shouted, his anger bubbling up almost instantaneously. It frightened Spencer, and even after his years of experience with the most psychotic of unsubs, it was unsettling how unpredictable his emotions were. He went from expressing his adoration for Spencer to unforeseen rage.

Hazel eyes widened and Spencer gasped as he was suddenly pulled up to sit on his knees, wincing and groaning at the sharp burst of pain in his backside which traveled up to his lower back. God, it hurt, and he felt tears burning in his eyes again. He had to withstand whatever this man put him through. He would have to if he wanted to see his family again - Morgan, again.

“They’ll find me,” Spencer whispered as he gazed up to the other man, a newfound sharpness manipulating those usual doe-like eyes. “They’ll find me, and you’ll be put in prison where you belong. You’ll _rot_ behind those bars.”

A sharp slap was the only response he got, his head physically turning from the force of the strike. His cheek was on fire, and his vision blurred as a few tears managed to escape despite his best efforts to prevent showing MacMillan any signs of weakness. He heard the sound of MacMillan’s belt and then the zipper of his pants. His hair was gripped and his head was forced back as MacMillan shoved his cock in Spencer’s face. He knew what was happening, and as much as he wished it weren’t, he couldn’t prevent this anymore than Morgan could.

He tried to keep his mouth shut, but soon enough, his lips were pried apart and MacMillan proceeded to violate his mouth. He choked around the other man’s member, tears involuntarily falling from his eyes now as he gagged and struggled to breathe. It was painful, his lungs burned for oxygens, and it lasted far longer than he would have expected. MacMillan was brutal in his thrusts, abusing Spencer’s throat until he came.

“Swallow it, baby,” MacMillan purred, clamping Reid’s jaw closed so that he had no other option than to swallow. He was disgusted, both with MacMillan and with himself. He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but that certainly wasn’t going to happen. MacMillan was surely going to leave any time now - if his internal clock was right, it was sometime around noon. This must be his lunch break. What a way to spend his free time.

Spencer’s eyes glanced up towards MacMillan, the glint of his blade catching his attention only for it to suddenly be slicing downwards over his cheek, his blood oozing out from the long gash almost immediately. MacMillan swiped his fingers over the redness, forcing them into Reid’s mouth soon thereafter, a whimper humming in his throat at the warm coppery taste that spread across his tongue. MacMillan pulled his fingers away, cupping his bloody cheek and stroking his thumb across the blood for a moment longer only to stand and leave without another word. Spencer’s lashes fluttered, and he found himself slowly maneuvering himself to lay on his side, overtaken by sobs and muffled cries of pain. Morgan and the rest of the team were close. They had to be. Because as much as Spencer wanted to endure, he wasn’t sure how much more he could really take.

* * *

“The priest identified her as Charlotte Lowe. She’s been missing for three days. He said she was a parishioner here, her and her family. Had been coming ever since she was just a little girl, and he knew because he baptized her,” Meyers informed the team as they approached the newest crime scene. Charlotte’s naked corpse was propped up against the church doors sitting in a pool of her own blood, her eyes open partially and staring into the nothingness that was death. Her face was shredded from obvious knife wounds, and the rest of her body was covered in injuries similar to those of previous victims. Her genitals were untouched though, indicating a shift in the unsub’s M.O.

“If I had to guess, I’d say our boy was her replacement,” Rossi offered his insight, to which Morgan only exhaled slowly to keep his cool, but the slight quiver of his lips was hard to miss.

“Why Reid though? How did we get on the unsub’s radar so quickly?” JJ questioned, clearly as confused as the rest of them. “I mean, we didn’t even release a press statement. We had absolutely no contact with the media, so how would the unsub know that Reid was an FBI agent?”

There was a moment of collective silence among the entire group, not even Prentiss having anything to offer. She was the type to think out loud too, so silence from her was somewhat unusual. Morgan felt a tightness clench inside of his chest as a revelation overcame him, something that they had never considered before because of the specific M.O. and overall timing of the murders.

“He’s on the inside,” he said, his voice low. Detective Meyers looked taken aback, but an expression of understanding took over Hotch’s face as he let his head nod slowly as if contemplating the idea.

“You’re saying our guy’s a cop?” Meyers asked incredulously, looking somewhat insulted by the assertion. It made sense, though. It wasn’t coincidence that the first day in, one of the members of their team was handpicked out of an entire city of potential victims. It also reaffirmed their theory that the unsub had a type - one that Reid fit to a T. He was a slim, dark-haired young man with feminine characteristics. In truth, he was the type of many serial killers who targeted males.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying, detective,” Rossi responded smoothly, an eyebrow cocked slightly as he glanced over to Hotch. Silent communication was transmitted between the two, and Hotch stepped in.

“Is there anyone in your department who has issues with control? Maybe he’s disobeyed superiors, has a high sense of self-value, overindulged in himself?” Prentiss started, understanding where they were going with this. They all just wanted Reid home, safe and sound - and _alive_.

“He might have been recently disciplined for excessive use of force during an arrest,” Hotch supplied, hoping that someone would come to mind for Detective Meyers. He seemed at a loss though, mainly because he was overcome with surprise due to the fact that it was possible that someone within his own field was responsible for these heinous crimes. Hotch didn’t waste any time flipping out his phone, one Penelope Garcia on speed dial.

“Please tell me you have good news,” Garcia said immediately, a certain desperation in her tone that nobody else on the team risked expressing, else they might lose sight of what was important - keeping their head and finding Reid. Morgan had already failed once though, but he couldn’t do it again. He needed to stay calm so that they could get Reid out of this hellish situation. They couldn’t have a repeat of Georgia; Morgan feared they might lost him for good this time.

“Not exactly,” Hotch said, sounding displeased with himself but continuing on regardless, “I need you to look for any officers in the Bloomington department with conduct issues. Look for reports of excessive force or write offs for disrespecting superiors.”

“I’m on it like a cat on a mouse, sir!” Garcia chirped before the click of her disconnecting the call brought them back to the detective who still looked a bit baffled.

“Detective. Please, is there anyone that comes to mind?” JJ asked again, trying to make him realize that time was not on their side anymore.

“Come on man, you gotta know _something_!” Morgan exclaimed, earning a sharp glare from Hotch in the process of his mini outburst. If there was anyone who knew those officers, Meyers had to be the one. He was there every day, and he had been in that field office for years, so it wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t know his own coworkers. He just had to know something!

“Lieutenant MacMillan. He’s always been a bit off to me… You know, his father died about six months back. He took a few weeks off after the funeral, and I thought he was just grieving…” Meyers said, a newfound expression of horror growing on his face.

“There’s your trigger,” Prentiss pointed out.

“Alright, let’s regroup at the police department. We need to everything there is to know about MacMillan,” Hotch said, and with that, the team returned to their SUVs and sped off, only praying that Reid was resilient enough to withstand this. Morgan could hardly even think straight to drive, but he got his riders, Prentiss and Rossi, back to the department safely and was bounding inside along with the rest of them. They didn’t have much time, because if MacMillan figured out they were on to him, he could potentially flee, and if he didn’t take Reid with him, that only meant he would kill him.

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch nearly shouted into the speaker as his team flurried about the conference room. Morgan, JJ, and Emily had returned to where Reid left off from the geographical profile and Rossi was speaking with Meyers in his office, trying to coax out any details regarding MacMillan.

“God, I can’t… He owns a condo downtown, but I can’t find any other potential locations he might have taken any of the victims,” Garcia informed, sounding devastated because of her inability to find any useful information. Rossi entered the room with the detective in-tow, a heaviness pushing his brows downwards and his eyes sharp as he confronted the rest of the team.

“MacMillan left for his lunch break about two hours ago and never came back,” Rossi revealed, practically confirming their suspicions that he was the unsub or had something to do with him.

“He might be at his condo now. Let’s go,” Hotch said, and with that, they were leaving the department again only twenty minutes after their return.

* * *

Spencer didn’t think MacMillan would be returning so soon. It had been exactly twenty-seven minutes and forty-eight seconds, until he came back up, and this time, he seemed to have a mission. He forced Reid up by his hair, propping him up against the wooden column. He seemed frenzied, moving much quicker than before and slightly out of breath, like he had been running. He had purpose in his ministrations though, because shortly after sitting Reid up, he was ushering him to stand, slapping him once when Reid didn’t at first comprehend what he wanted from him.

  
“I can’t wait to see your team,” MacMillan started, gripping the underside of Spencer’s chin and forcing his head up, his hazel eyes blurred from previous bouts of tears and his lips trembling just slightly from fear, “and the looks on their faces when they realize you’re already dead and bloody… All ‘cause of me!”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, but that hand on his chin lowered to his neck, squeezing tightly. Spencer could only gasp for breath, his chained hands raising up to grasp onto the hand clutched around his jugular. His eyes were wide, afraid, and it was obvious that MacMillan was enjoying this. A crazed grin was on his face, his own eyes wide, but not with fear, and instead, a terrifying hunger resided within them, a hunger for death that only a psychopath craved. It lasted for what felt like forever but was probably only a minute or so, and when MacMillan’s hand let lose, Spencer’s hands instead wrapped around his neck as he gasped for air. He began to sink to the ground, but MacMillan kept him upright against the post. A familiar zipping sound curled the insides of Spencer’s stomach, and soon enough, a repetition of earlier occurred and he was penetrated with no remorse. It hurt, just like last time. He did his best to stay quiet, but it was difficult to hold back his cries and whimpers when his walls were crumbling. When MacMillan was done with him, he released inside of him, his semen mixing with his blood as it trailed down his thighs. It was the worst form of degradation anyone could ever experience, and now he completely understood what it meant to be a victim. Because as much as he hated the label, he couldn’t avoid it anymore. His team would never look at him the same again, not after they discovered what had happened to him.

“Get up,” MacMillan growled, forcing the other to stand again despite the overwhelming ache in his rear end and the trembling of his knees. Spencer’s button-up was undone, but it clung to his bloody form, the white fabric blotched red and torn from the slashes delivered to him early on. “Get up!”

They would be here soon. This wasn’t it, they had to find him. They had to be on their way now. He refused to die like this, naked and bloodied in dusty attic, chains tying him down. This wasn’t how it ended. He had his whole life ahead of him still. What would they tell his Mom?… What would Morgan think? How could they ever the way he was before if this was the way they found him? He wouldn’t ever be the same if he made it out of this alive; it had already shattered him. His gaze had fallen, eyes half lidded as he breathed shakily, heavily, his throat raw and sore from the assault earlier and the chokehold just moments before. Without any indication of what was coming, Reid’s eyes rose just in time to see a flash of silver, and he doubled over when it impaled his lower abdomen, a soundless gasp parting his lips. MacMillan guided him to the ground, tears falling from Spencer’s eyes as the pain burst through him like fire. MacMillan left the knife embedded in him, as if to prolong his torture further. He brushed his hair out of his face and cupped his cheek, leaning down to press his lips against Reid’s for a soft, almost delicate kiss before leaving him to die in that attic, the sound of the hatch falling shut resounding through the atmosphere.

* * *

“FBI, open up!” Morgan shouted, his voice ricocheting off the corridor halls of the upscale condo building. They had made it to MacMillan’s condo, swat following close behind as Morgan kicked in the door and stormed into the room. It was in slight disarray, a vase smashed on the ground and a few picture frames shattered as well. The condo was cleared, MacMillan nowhere in sight. The team instantly began to look for any evidence of MacMillan’s current whereabouts, looking through his things and searching for any sort of clues that might lead them to where he was keeping his victims - where he was keeping Reid. Prentiss had been going through the mess of mail on the coffee table, an overturned glass of soda staining some of the papers. But, alas, near the bottom of the pile was MacMillan’s father’s will, and after a quick scan-through, Emily drew the rest of the team’s attention.

“Guys, I think I’ve got something,” she announced, and within seconds, they were circling around her, both eager and afraid to hear what she had to say.

“This is a will,” she said, holding it up for them to see. “His father’s. MacMillan was the sole beneficiary of his father’s legacy. His property.” Hotch instantly called Garcia, and after just several moments of snooping, she was able to give them an address of MacMillan’s childhood home, located less than ten miles away from the condo building.

When they arrived to MacMillan’s childhood home, they forced their way in immediately. MacMillan was nowhere to be found and his car was missing, and the house seemed relatively empty and well kept. It was an older, two-story Tudor home perched on a hill with a winding driveway wrapping around the hill. It was surrounded by a thicket of woodlands and in truth, it was a beautiful piece of architecture. They searched the home, Morgan and Prentiss upstairs while Hotch, Rossi, and JJ looked around the ground floor and basement. They found evidence of the other murders that took place there including a blood stain that had soaked into the wood floor in the living room and an article of jewelry that one of the female victims had been wearing when she went missing. Other than that, there were no signs of MacMillan or Reid. Just as Morgan was about to give up and head downstairs, he noticed the hatch leading into the attic wasn’t closed all of the way. He called for Prentiss, gesturing to the hatch and pulling the cord down, the attic stairs unfolding to rest near his feet. He withdrew his gun, the stairs creaking under his and Prentiss’s weight.

Everything after that seemed to go in slow motion. Reid was there, unmoving with a knife sticking out of his body, laying in a pool of his own blood. Prentiss called for the paramedics and Morgan was instantly at the boy’s side, those hazel eyes half lidded and losing focus of the world around him. Morgan gathered Reid in his arms, propping his head up on his forearm as a cough rattled Reid’s naked frame, blood tainting his pale lips a sickly red.

“Morgan…” Spencer breathed, his voice raspy and barely above a whisper.

  
“Yeah, it’s Morgan, baby. Just keep breathing for me, you’re gonna be okay,” Morgan assured him, although it was also an assurance to himself too. Reid wasn’t in good shape. He was actively bleeding. He heard shouts from downstairs, primarily Prentiss who was instructing the team and other law enforcement to search for a key of some sort to free Reid from the metal cuffs.

“Morgan…” Spencer whispered again, tears falling from his eyes and clinging to his long lashes, “I don’t want to die…”

“That’s why you’re not going to, you hear me?” Morgan said, his own voice cracking and nearly panicked, “Don’t talk anymore, I need you to focus on breathing and keeping your eyes on me, okay? Keep looking at me, Pretty Boy.”

A key ring was soon passed up to Prentiss, and she was instantly unlocking the cuffs around Reid’s wrists. As soon as they were gone, Morgan carefully but quickly lifted Reid’s petite frame into his arms, maneuvering him down the attic stairs and finally to the ground floor where EMTs had a stretcher waiting. Reid was taken away to the ambulance and Morgan was following close behind, insisting on riding to the hospital with him but refused due to the direness of the situation. His ears were ringing. He heard the EMTs communicating frantically with one another before the ambulance doors were closed and they were speeding off down the long driveway and to the hospital.

Standing before that house of horrors, Morgan was left in dismay with Reid’s blood on his hands, and when he looked up at the lone attic window at the very top of the house, he swore he saw Spencer looking back at him.


	4. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek reflects; Spencer awakens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written with Train Wreck by James Arthur on repeat.
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

It was cold. Too, too cold. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, and his head was throbbing, bouncing back and forth between consciousness and unconsciousness. There were voices around him, speaking loudly using terms and a language he would normally understand, but not in this state of mind. He wasn’t feeling well, and a groan passed his lips although it was quickly hushed by a mask pressed over his mouth. His lashes fluttered, and the blur of the bright fluorescent lights above him were the only thing he could see. Faces popped in and out of his line of sight, but a c-collar around his neck kept him from looking around to follow the movement. Even if he had the ability, he was too weak to keep his head up anyway. His vision was getting blurrier by the minute, and only minutes later, his eyes were closed and he was rushed into the OR.

_“How you doin’?”_ He could hear Gideon’s voice in his head, speaking to him. It was their conversation after the L.D.S.K case. The memory was so vivid, and Reid cursed his memory for making it so realistic, like he were living through it again. Soon after Gideon spoke, he heard his own voice reply, and the conversation proceeded just as it had so many years ago.

_“You were right. You don't need a gun to kill somebody.”_

_“No, you don’t."_

_“…But it helps.”_

_“Yes... it does.”_

_“I-I know I should feel bad about… what happened. I mean… I killed a man. You know, I-I should… feel something. But I don’t."_

_“Well, knowing what you're feelin’… That's not the same as not feelin'. This is gonna hurt you… And when it does… There’s only 3 facts you need to know. You did what you had to do… And a lot of good people are alive because of what you did.”_

_“What's the third?”_

_“I'm proud of you.”_

By then, the anesthetic had seeped into his mind, and Spencer was gone.

* * *

The team had hunkered down in the waiting room as soon they arrived. They were informed by a nurse that Reid was currently in surgery but she wasn’t sure when she would be out. This resulted in their group of armed agents tense and on edge, either pacing together through the waiting room or sitting uncomfortably in the faux leather seats. Morgan had made two trips to the cafeteria in the past hour and Garcia was on her way to Bloomington, because she couldn’t handle this situation without physically being there in person with the rest of them. Prentiss and JJ sat together, quietly, while Hotch and Rossi talked quietly among themselves, their conversation most likely pertaining to the events going on as well as what they were going to do about it.

It was then that Garcia bumbled into the waiting room, walking awkwardly as usual in her too-high heels while pulling along a suitcase on wheels behind her, approaching the girls first. Her makeup was smudged and her eyes had black rings around them; clearly she had been crying because of what took place. Without words, as soon as JJ noticed Penelope, she stood and greeted the other woman with a hug, Prentiss soon following and rubbing her hand up and down Garcia’s back as a sob threatened to wrack her frame.

“How is he?” She asked immediately, her eyes wide behind her glasses as she looked back and forth between the two other women, Prentiss and JJ sharing a brief look as well before Emily spoke up.

“Reid or Morgan?” She said, her tone bordering teasing.

“Both,” Garcia responded instantly, her brow furrowed and her pink-painted lips pulled downwards into a frown that clearly didn’t belong on her usually bubbly face.

“Reid is still in surgery. No word yet. Morgan… Well, he’s probably working on his third trip to the cafeteria by now,” JJ said with a frown on her own face, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Oh, my baby genius…” Garcia nearly moaned, her eyes shining again with a new threat of tears. “He’s going to be okay, right? He’s… He’s not…”

“He’s fine,” came Morgan’s voice as he approached the huddle with his third coffee, and even though the hospital coffee’s consistency was somewhere between sludge and mud, Morgan felt he had to keep himself occupied otherwise he might lose it. “He has to be.”

Garcia approaches the man as soon as those words leave his mouth. She lets go of her suitcase handle, and it seems Derek is already in motion because by the time he feels the tears in his eyes Garcia’s arms are around him and he’s barely managing to keep it together. His eyes squeeze shut and he hugs the blonde tightly, her hand resting just slightly on the back of his neck. As comforting as it is, he sincerely wishes that their body in his arms were Reid’s, and that it were Reid’s arms coming around him. He never realized how special the kid was to him until all of this went down. Even the Hankel incident didn’t scare him as much as this did. Reid had gone knocking on death’s door far too many times, and from this point forward, if Reid made it out of this, Morgan wasn’t going to let the boy out of sight ever again.

“He will be,” Garcia said as she pulled back, her hands moving to his shoulders and giving one last squeeze before she looked back to the women, JJ and Emily’s hands intertwined between them.

  
“Hotch gave me the thumbs up to share the hotel room with you,” Garcia said next, attempting to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively despite the deep furrow in them, and in truth, it just looked like she was confused rather than flirtatious like she had hoped. “So I hope you didn’t plan on sleeping alone tonight.”

“Never, baby girl,” Morgan said softly in response, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

“We’re going to go with her,” JJ spoke for both Prentiss and herself, “I think I might go crazy if I stay in here any longer without some fresh air.”

As soon as the girls were gone, Morgan subtly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, exhaling shakily and glancing over towards the other two men who had silenced themselves in favor of waiting. The stress on Hotch’s face was quite apparent, meanwhile Rossi looked through his journal, as if something new would present itself to him regarding the case. It would be nearly an hour later until a doctor came out to face the waiting room, his cap fitted over his head from the surgery he just completed and blue latex gloves still covering his hands, trace signs of blood evident on them.

“Spencer Reid?” He called, to which the remaining members of the BAU instantly stood and met him halfway across the room. Morgan felt like he might be sick from nerves, his hands balling into fists at his sides involuntarily.

“I’m his proxy. How is he?” Hotch immediately asked after a brief introduction, a heavy sigh coming from the doctor, Dr. Wells, who managed a small smile.

“He’s stable now. He went into hypovolemic shock shortly after getting into the ambulance and v-fibbed once on the way here, and then twice during surgery. But he’s a real tough kid. The journey will be hard but within time I believe he will make a full recovery. Physically, that is. The knife grazed his pancreas and nicked his spleen, so there was some internal bleeding. But we were able to repair the injury and reduce his risk of any future complications.”

“Good… That’s good,” Morgan breathed, but he couldn’t forget the one thing that had been haunting him throughout the entirety of their mission. It was known what this unsub did to his victims, and to Morgan, that was a clear sign that there was more information that the doctor wasn’t going to share or hadn’t yet.

“Very,” Rossi agreed immediately, sharing a private moment with Hotch in which they silently communicated with one another before Dave spoke up again. “What else, Doctor?”

There was a moment of silence, and Dr. Wells instantly seemed to know what he was alluding to. His lips remained in a thin line, and Morgan grew concerned again when his suspicions were confirmed. The unsub had an M.O., and Reid was no exception to that.

“The patient presented with clear evidence of sexual trauma and after examination, I determined that he had been raped.”

Morgan nearly felt his heart stop, and if he didn’t have a cause for vengeance then, he did now. He wanted nothing more than to find MacMillan and empty a clip or two into his disgusting body. He was angry, rightfully so, and Hotch sent him a sharp look that told him to keep it together. The doctor left shortly after, saying a nurse would come get them when Spencer was set up in a room. Then they were left alone.

“I’m gonna kill this son of a bitch, Hotch,” Derek said as if it were a warning, and Hotch seemed to sigh out of his own frustration.

“I know you’re angry, but we need to stay calm - for Reid’s sake.”

That did little to calm him down, and after some more pacing and a fourth trip to the cafeteria, a nurse retrieved them and brought them to Reid’s room in the ICU. Once there, Morgan nearly cried out at the sight. Spencer Reid had never been smaller. He was drowning in that hospital bed, the gown swallowing his petite form whole. His skin was as pale as the sheets, his slender hands looking bonier than usual, especially with the IV plunged into the top of his hand like a butterfly perched atop a flower. His cheeks were a bit gaunt from the ventilator fixed over his mouth. His hair had been cleaned of blood, and the golden brown curls were left haloing his face. Stitches zigzagged up his jaw to his left temple, and from this angle, the bruises were purple blossoms wrapped around neck. Even like this, Morgan thought, Spencer retained a specific form of beauty that he had never seen another human possess. It was so utterly human and perhaps that fragility was what had attracted Morgan before, when he had first met the other man.

He was just a gangly kid, always sure of himself when it came to facts and information spewing, but never with social interactions. He always had struggled with that, and even now, he still missed social cues that other perceived as obvious. But to Spencer, those cues were as difficult as the complex equations that normally took him less than thirty seconds to solve. Growing up as a single child in a single parent household was just as tough on a kid’s development, especially when that parent was also a paranoid schizophrenic who had little to no concept of time. Spencer had told him once before that he had essentially raised himself from the age of ten onwards, ever since his father left them to fend for themselves. Morgan could understand the grudge he held against his father, and in truth, his father’s, and essentially his mother’s, absence was probably why Reid had been so socially inept. Luckily, his time at the BAU had forced him to open up, and while he could still be as antisocial as before, he didn’t have as much difficulty talking about things that didn’t involve statistics.

“He should be waking up anytime now,” the nurse informed the trio before stepping out. Soon thereafter, Hotch stepped out to call Jack and let him know he’d be home as soon as possible. That left Morgan and Rossi, standing rather stiffly on either side of Reid’s bed. Neither spoke at first, and Morgan felt like vulnerable in his current state.

“I never knew you felt like that towards the kid, Morgan,” Rossi said, “The way he looks at you is obvious. But I never thought I’d see that look on your face.”

  
“What look?” Morgan questioned, a sharp brow raising while his eyes glanced towards Rossi for a mere second before returning to Reid’s form, focusing briefly on the gentle rise and fall of his chest, assisted by that damned ventilator.

“Adoration, Derek,” Rossi said then, stepping away from the bed. He patted Morgan’s shoulder before exiting the room and giving Morgan the privacy he didn’t know he needed. As soon as Rossi left, a tidal wave of emotion hit him, and he was sat down in the chair beside Spencer, taking the other’s hand into his own and letting himself cry quietly. Seeing Reid like this was a reminder of how often he overlooked the younger man. Of course he was important to him, but he never did realize _how_ _much._ Reid was so fucking precious to him, and despite never really considering those feelings to be anything more than platonic, he was seriously doubting his subconscious. Morgan loved the kid, although he never took the time to think about the nature of those feelings. He had never considered a man to be attractive before. Of course, he could recognize other men who were good looking, but he never felt attracted _to_ them. Reid was different. Reid was _always_ different, in every fashion, and Morgan couldn’t believe it took him this long to realize that he cared so deeply for him. He was such a good soul, and even if he was a bit awkward and occasionally even obnoxious with his fact spiels, it was precious in a way that Derek would never be able to explain, not even to himself.

It was within those moments of self-reflection that the hand within his own twitched. Derek immediately looked towards it, eyes wide and heart beginning to race again. He kept his eyes locked on Reid’s face, looking away only once when his hand twitched again, and then again after that. He was eager to see those hazel hues look at him again, and soon enough, he got what he wanted; they did. After a pained groan, Spencer’s lashes fluttered from their previous resting spot over the apples of his cheeks, and he looked directly at Morgan. He was clearly confused, somewhat dazed, and he groaned again as his legs shuffled about beneath the thin blankets laid over his form.

  
“M’rg’n…” he murmured softly beneath the ventilator, his voice raspy. It felt like he was choking on sand, and to emphasis this further, a fit of rough coughs racking his frame. Everything hurt, and Reid couldn’t quite comprehend why. He didn’t quite remember what had happened, and only bits and pieces of information resided within his memory bank.

“It’s Morgan, Pretty Boy. Don’t move, a nurse will be here soon,” he said, pressing the nurse call button as soon as he said that. He kept his grasp on Reid’s hand, but the boy’s other hand came up to slip the mask off of his face. He took a deep breath on his own, a grimace of pain crossing his features since the movement obviously caused him some discomfort.

“ _Mmnng,_ ” he groaned as he attempted to adjust his position, “E’ryth’ng hur’s.”

  
“Reid, I need you to stay still,” Morgan told him, trying to stay calm since yelling at Reid wouldn’t help him right now. He was hazy and clearly not in his right mind at the moment, coming down from the anesthesia and awakening into a world of pain. His chart said no to narcotics, so the pain medication he was currently receiving probably wasn’t doing much for him. Reid clearly had other ideas though, and he pushed his arms against the bed beneath him with another series of moans, murmuring something that Morgan couldn’t quite understand because of his garbled voice. But as soon as Reid made it into a sitting position, the sharp pains in his backside became more apparent, and with a cry he crumbled back to the bed, tears burning in his eyes. He didn’t understand what was happening, clearly, and Morgan had never seen Reid so helpless before.

A nurse soon arrived and it only took her a sentence to gauge the situation before she approached and checked his current IV, giving Morgan a reassuring smile as she set to work calming down Reid as much as she could.

  
“Dr. Reid, it’s good to see you awake,” she said, putting up another bag in exchange for the mostly empty bag currently hanging. “I’m just changing your fluids. You have a saline drip going that should be could for a couple more hours and I’m replacing the intravenous acetaminophen since you can’t have narcotics,” she informed him, having been told that he liked to know what was going on with his body, even if he couldn’t quite comprehend it right now.

“No narcotics…” he breathed under his breath, and Morgan felt something akin to pride swell in his chest. Reid was so adamant about his sobriety, and it was so incredibly admirable of him to cling on to that even when he was most likely in agony.

“Of course. I brought some water for you too, Dr. Reid. How are you feeling, otherwise?” She asked him, doing a quick check of his vitals and seeming satisfied with the readings since she didn’t pester him into anymore tests.

“Great…” he said sarcastically, the word itself sounding like it caused him pain to say. Morgan never let go of his hand, and Reid was fine with that.

“The acetaminophen can really only do so much. If there’s anything else you need to make yourself more comfortable, please let me or another nurse know and we’ll do whatever we can,” she said, looking over the stitch-work on his cheek with a satisfied hum.

“Again, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to hit that red button on the side of your bed or the TV remote.” When she left, Reid turned his gaze to Morgan, looking over him and looking a bit somber. The memories were coming back to him now that the anesthesia’s haze was lifting from him, and he felt a bit more emotional than he would have liked. It was difficult to think that he _really_ knew how those victims felt now. He knew what it was like to be kidnapped, beaten, drugged, _killed_ … But being violated in such an intimate way shredded Spencer’s soul, and it left him feeling used and disgusted. He was abhorred with himself; he just _laid_ there, allowing himself to be used for the other man’s pleasure. His logical side tried to reason that he played into the fantasy to stay alive, but his emotional side couldn’t reason with the fact that he had been _raped_.

The tears came, whether he liked it or not, and sobs ripped their way from his abused throat. Was there any part of him that was unblemished by that man’s wretched hands? Morgan understood what was going on, almost instantly, but he didn’t initiate any contact. He understood what Reid was feeling; he had lived through it himself. Other than the trembling hand within his own, he didn’t make a move towards Spencer, stroking his thumb over his knuckles and watching in silent agony as Spencer mourned his loss. A part of Spencer had died in that attic, and even when he was physically healed and well, he would never be the same. Morgan knew this, but no matter what had happened to Reid, he was never going to deny him the adoration he so rightfully needed. And no matter how long it took, Derek would continue to pick up the pieces until Spencer was whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I just wanted to do a quick pop in and let all of my readers know how much I appreciate them! Your support is truly what gives me motivation to continue, and I really do adore you. Thank you all so much for reading!


	5. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek brings Spencer home; Spencer wants it to stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say this before every chapter, but this time I really mean it -
> 
> PLEASE heed the warnings.

After the third day, the team was called back to Quantico to return to normal duty. This meant that Reid was left alone — in theory, anyway. The plan was for them all to return home, and as soon as Reid was cleared to fly, they would meet him at the airport and get him home. But Morgan adamantly refused this idea as soon as it was proposed, and he insisted on staying with Spencer, protocol be damned. There wasn’t much any of them could do to convince him otherwise, so he stayed with the boy genius while the rest went home, not without Penelope’s constant assurances that if either of them needed anything to call her or one of the others.

Spencer was doing much better already. After the initial confusion blew over and the missing pieces of memory were restored, he was able to somewhat communicate about the events. He broke down several times throughout his story, and on the second day he completely refused to keep talking when asked about the rape, albeit delicately without actually saying the ‘r’ word. It was too sensitive of a topic for him to comfortably discuss just yet, but the abduction and assault was already enough for them, so Hotch and the team left without pressuring him any further, and in truth, that might have been a good thing for all of them. As far as Reid was concerned, he planned on bottling that up and leaving it untouched for the rest of his life. If that bottle opened, he would be forced to drink the poison of those memories, and those memories would obliterate him into nothingness.

He was close to that point already though. He knew all there was to know about the psychological aspects after sexual assault, but to be the one experiencing the aftermath was something he never wanted to understand. It was like looking at oneself from a different point of view. Spencer had never been the most confident person in the world, at lost not in his physical form. He always had confidence in his intellect, and he never really viewed himself as an _ugly_ person, but that was all he felt like now. It was an overwhelming, internal sensation of repulsiveness that ate him up inside until there was nothing but self-loathing left, swarming in his brain, and he wanted nothing more than to eradicate those feelings. But in order to do that, he would have to uproot his own existence first, and suddenly, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“What’s going on up there, Reid?” Morgan’s voice managed to filter in through his destructive thoughts, and he shook his head slightly since he couldn’t really say _I think I might be suicidal_ without raising some alarm. If he said that, Morgan would be concerned, and the last thing he needed was anymore stress. Spencer already felt guilty about putting so much stress on Morgan and the entire team for that matter, and worrying them further about an issue that was simply psychosomatic wasn’t logical to him. He was left silent for quite sometime, and his gaze did raise to Morgan eventually, but he was dulled, as if all of the nerve impulses in his body had simply seized to function. The neurons had stopped communicating, the dendrites wilting and the neurotransmitters halting in place. He had never felt like this before. He struggled with emotions sometimes and his teammates had question on multiple times if he was autistic or had Asperger’s. He struggled with emotions, but he was never void of them entirely.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head soon and just letting out a soft puff of air, his eyes feeling heavy, but he wasn’t sure if that was from his fatigue or his body simply telling him that vision wasn’t worth it anymore. Hopelessness built in him — that was a name for it — but even still, it wasn’t _enough_ to describe the emptiness.

“Reid,” Morgan started as if it were a warning, “we did this last time. And then… You were gone. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Of course he knew that. How could he not? Morgan was his best friend. Best friends told each other everything. Except if one was in love with the other and dealing with the burden of that as well as the fact that he had just been kidnapped, assaulted, and _raped._ Friends stuck together though, no matter what happened. Sometimes though, Reid wondered if fate was just fooling everyone, playing them all like a bad hand of cards, folding when their life was deemed useless. And Reid thought he was good at poker.

“I know,” he said softly in reply eventually, glancing over at Morgan and speaking in the only way he knew how — statistics. “Did you know that only 3% of men in America are victims of… assault?”

Morgan breathed a heavy sigh. The only way that Reid knew how to communicate was through statistics and facts, so if this was his way of coping, then Morgan had no choice but stay quiet and listen as Reid explained in his own language that he was a victim — he was a statistic now; a mere number.

“No, Reid. I didn’t know that,” he humored him, leaning back in his seat as Spencer twiddled with the IV tube running to his hand, rolling the tube between his fingers and frowning heavily. It was almost like watching the fluids pumping into his body would inspire him to say more, but in truth, he had nothing else to say. He didn’t want to say anything else because in his mind, he had said enough on the subject. The rest could be said another day.

The brain was such a fascinating organ. Reid considered turning that BA in psychology into a PhD, but he was afraid to touch the subject again now that he had his own perspective as a victim of sexual assault. There were so many things he _knew_ already that he was avoiding because he didn’t want to be reminded of the pain. The PTSD was already an issue because of Hankel, but this would only reinforce the existence of the disorder that he thought he had overcome and successfully battled. But that was clearly not the case. Fate really did have a way of damning people, he thought bitterly. No matter how hard he tried, that hole that he had just climbed out of swallowed him whole once more, and he didn’t know if he could get out of it this time. The cravings were already making themselves known, and once he was alone, he didn’t know if he would be able to resist the temptation.

Spencer stayed a total of two more days in the hospital, mainly to keep him for viewing in case of any infections. But nothing happened, so he was cleared to fly and go home to Quantico. To burrow in his apartment and hide there for the rest of eternity sounded like a dream, but that wasn’t going to happen. He had a strong support system, and his team cared for him very much, but he wanted to be alone for at least a night. Although, his rational side disapproved of the idea. The combination of his fragility, cravings, and newly rising thoughts of self-deprecation could only lead to bad things. But he was too emotional to listen to that logic. The entire trip was uneventful between he and Morgan, and although the two shared brief words, Spencer didn’t want to talk. He began to question if he really had gone undiagnosed with a mild form of Asperger’s after all of these years, because speaking was becoming more and more difficult, and on the ride home, he found that his throat clenched whenever he tried to answer Morgan verbally. He opted for nods and shakes of his head instead, the occasional shoulder shrug added in when necessary. It was scary to talk, and he felt like if he attempted to speak, his head would implode.

Morgan didn’t let his silence go unnoticed. He noticed several times when Spencer’s lips parted as if he wanted to speak only for them to press together again, and he would respond to him with a physical response. It was somewhat concerning, but everyone handled trauma individually. It was most likely a form of selective mutism if he had to guess, but he didn’t want to assume anything and make a decision off of something he didn’t know for sure.

When they arrived at Morgan’s house after all of this traveling, Reid felt both confused and betrayed, looking towards the other man incredulously when he came around to open the passenger door for him. The team had made a joint decision regarding Reid’s living status, and that included giving Morgan a week off to help Reid situate. Derek had insisted on keeping Reid with him until he had recovered, and while the team definitely had opinions about this, there was no refusing him. Morgan was an imposing figure, and neither had the heart to argue with him.

Spencer felt hurt, but even so, he reluctantly got out of the truck and allowed Morgan to lead him inside of the house. It was spacious, but cozy and so utterly _domestic._ There was a normalcy to it that Spencer’s apartment lacked, considering he had bookshelves on almost every wall and the comforting smell of coffee and old paper hung in the air. This was different — not necessarily bad, just different.

“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll put on a pot of real coffee, not that shitty hospital coffee,” Morgan said, and although that was meant to be an invitation, Spencer stood in living room a bit awkwardly while Morgan disappeared into the kitchen. He felt out of place, definitely uncomfortable, and he felt conflicted. He couldn’t find it in him to voice these concerns though, so instead of speaking, he followed behind Morgan like a meek puppy and slid into one of the barstools at the kitchen island. He brushed his hair out of his face, knowing it was most likely greasy and messy. He wanted to take a shower, but without words, that would be difficult to express. So instead, he sat there, wringing his hands and fiddling with the sleeves of the sweatshirt he wore. It was one of Morgan’s, since trying to wear a button up shirt and a sweater vest wasn’t ideal when he was nursing a stab wound. It hung off of his lithe body, but it was still comfortable and the fact that it was oversized on him made it easier to move in and definitely didn’t put any strain on him.

“I’ll order takeout for dinner — I know you have a thing for Thai, so we can do that,” Morgan offered, his back still turned to Reid as he fitted the filter in the coffeemaker and dumped a few spoonfuls of coffee grounds in, the warm, comforting smell soon wafting through the kitchen. It filled Reid’s nose and it was a pleasant reminder that there were still good things in the world. So many other things had been stripped from him, but at least coffee was still a luxury he could appreciate. He didn’t say anything when a mug was sat in front of him, but he did raise a brow as he noticed that it had an image of a Dalek on the side. Morgan shrugged slightly with a quirked smile on his lips, sitting down at the kitchen island across from him. Derek felt a little awkward, but he didn’t want to make Spencer anymore uncomfortable by mentioning his lack of speech. It was the last thing Spencer needed.

“How about I show you to the guest room? I’m pretty sure Garcia already has it set up real nice for you,” Morgan tried to offer, and despite Reid’s silence, he looked back expectantly, taking a sip from his mug before rising from where he sat, the stool’s legs screeching slightly across the linoleum flooring that Morgan had installed himself. Derek stood up as well, and he was somewhat surprised to see that in that short amount of time, only half of Spencer’s coffee remained — how did the kid do it? He led him towards the hallway where the bedrooms. It was a two bedroom house, both rooms having en suite bathrooms, although the master bedroom and connected bathroom was slightly bigger than the other rooms. However, as soon as he opened the door and let Reid inside, it seemed like Reid was overwhelmed with the new living space he was given.

It was decorated with many of Reid’s knick-knacks and even some of his posters. From where he was standing, the closet was filled with his clothes and if he had to guess, so was the dresser on the opposite wall. Speaking of the dresser, some of his books were stacked on top of it, and there were two other smaller stacks on one of the bedside tables while the other sported a lamp that he recognized immediately as his own. Garcia was such an amazing friend, and he instantly felt like he didn’t deserve any of her kindness. The room made him feel safe and at home, and when he looked back to Morgan, the smallest of smiles had curled his full lips upwards. Morgan didn’t let that go unnoticed either, and he smiled back.

“I’m glad you like it. We thought you might feel more comfortable if it felt like home.” Reid agreed instantly. Home instilled a sense of peace, belonging, and familiarity within an individual, and being reminded of that home and bringing pieces of it with you could help comfort an individual forced to be away from home. It was psychology; Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The bottom of the pyramid was the foundation — physiological needs, such as food, shelter, sleep and other things necessary for human survival. The further up the pyramid one went, the more in depth it grew, but to have a fulfillment of one tier only opened up the possibility of fulfilling the next, and the one that came after that. This was made to feel like home, and while he appreciated it greatly, it _wasn’t_ home, and that was because he didn’t know here home was anymore. He couldn’t go back to his apartment alone and expect to feel okay. In fact, being alone right now terrified him, and even if Morgan could be a bit overbearing, he felt safe with him nearby.

Reid stepped further into the room, running his fingertips along the footboard of the bed, glancing into the open door leading into the connected bathroom. He took a few steps towards it, glancing back towards Morgan who seemed to understand almost immediately.

“If you want to freshen up, I’ll leave you to it. There are towels in there already and some of your clothes are in the closet and dresser. I’ll order the food while you take care of business,” Derek said with another small smile before leaving Reid alone, although he left the door cracked should Reid need help or if something went wrong, which he doubted it would; he was just being paranoid, for good reason of course.

Reid felt a little unsure of himself now that he was alone. He felt like he didn’t belong here, because this was Morgan’s house, and it was a feeling of trespassing. He didn’t want to be perceived as a burden, especially not to Morgan. That would be both humiliating and upsetting, and he didn’t know if he could handle being stabbed again. Soon, he found himself in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror for the first time in over a week. At first, he felt nothing, simply taking in the appearance of his sharp features contoured darkly by the bruising around one of his eyes and the face that his entire left cheek was swollen up like a balloon, colored a sickly purple just beginning to fade to yellow. The bruises around his neck weren’t getting any better though, still retaining a dark purple shade; not unlike the color of the scarf he liked to wear so much. The sudden thought of wrapping that scarf around his neck until the breath left his body and never returned was strangely very appealing to him, and he let his eyes close to dispel the thought. He had never been suicidal before, and he was beginning to scare himself.

Nathan Harris had been like this too, afraid of the images his mind conjured up of dead prostitutes soaked in their own blood. He was afraid of his mind’s desires, and his attempted suicide had been a clear sign that he didn’t want to think that way, it was just how he been programmed. _I know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind_. He had said those words before, but he was only beginning to understand now. He was afraid of himself, of what he could do unsupervised, and the fact that MacMillan was still out there was not in the slightest bit relieving. It put him more on edge, to know that he could come back should he want to. In reality, MacMillan’s hands were still wrapped around his neck, controlling his every move and guiding him closer and closer to the edge of that haunting abyss of no return. He was already bathed in darkness — what difference would it make if he went deeper into it?

He soon managed to get in the shower, lost in his thoughts still as his body went through the motions. He washed his hair, his face, but when he began to lather his body in suds, he couldn’t seem to stop. No matter how much scrubbing he did, he felt dirty still, and he didn’t stop until his skin was red and raw and he lost the ability to tell if he was actually crying or just imagining it since wet cheeks were becoming a familiar feeling. He exhaled shakily, ignoring the ache climbing up his spinal column and spreading down his legs from his backside. It was almost unbearable, and with every throb, he was reminded of what had happened, what he had _allowed_ to happen. It made him feel disgusting, and he was faced with himself again in front of that damned mirror. His lips were trembling, and he tried to convince himself that the wetness clinging to his lashes and dripping down his cheeks was just shower water. His reflection was foreign to him, and he certainly didn’t recognize the person looking back at him. He didn’t look like that a week away, he was certain of it. He had always had slight bags under his eyes, but he had never seen such a haunting face in all his life, even after so many years in his chosen field.

He grew upset again, frustrated and overwhelmed and suddenly his hand was smashing into the mirror and glass was shattering into the sink and on the bathroom floor. Glass imbedded into his hand, and he gasped at the appearance of blood smearing across his palm. He stumbled backwards, stepping on shards and eventually collapsing in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest and looking at the mess of glass littering the bathroom tile, his blood dripping from the shattered corpse of the mirror and into the sink bowl, painting the white porcelain dark red. An apparent banging sound was coming from somewhere, but it seemed so faraway and irrelevant. His eyes caught sight of a relatively large shard, and despite the chaotic scene around him, it held in it his only solace. He body writhing forward of its own accord, and he ignored the glass digging into his hands and knees until he had reached the object of his desire. Sobs shook him to the core when he sat up on his bloodied knees, the hand grasping his sweet solace trembling so badly it was difficult to keep his grip.

Maybe this time, _he_ could be the one in control, and he wouldn’t just sit and wait for things to come to an end. He had to make this _stop_ because his brain just wouldn’t _stop_ and it felt like the air in his lungs was crystallizing and breathing was becoming painful and _it wouldn’t stop_. The beautiful glass perched on his wrist, adorning his pale skin with a band of red until suddenly the banging became _unbearable_ and a loud _crack_ resounded through his brain. Everything just _hurt and it wouldn’t stop and oh god, it just kept getting worse._ The glass was ripped from his hand and arms came around him and he was _screaming._

_“No!”_ He screamed out, clawing at the limbs wrapping around him and entrapping him, _“No, what did you do?!”_

A voice came from somewhere, but he was too far gone, crying and sobbing desperately, making weak attempts to grab for the glass only for a larger hand to enclose around his own and pull it back to his chest. He didn’t understand. _He_ was supposed to be in control, and it suddenly seemed like he would never get what he wanted.

“I just want it to stop… Why won’t it stop?…” he cried, his eyes falling shut as his hands stilled over Derek’s forearms, and he was left a shaking mess of tears and blood, losing control over himself and his body as Derek hushed him and pulled him in closer, hiding him from the rest of the world as if that would take away his anguish and replace it with something else entirely. Spencer shook so violently in his arms, and the constant begs for Morgan to make it stop was something that cracked his tough exterior and shook him to his very core. He let Spencer weep and he held him until his body went still and his crying seized, but it seemed that no matter how many times he cleansed his hands of Spencer’s blood, it somehow found its way back to him.


	6. Unburn the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer finds solace within Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly proud of the way this chapter turned out, but please let me know what you think!

When Derek had left Spencer alone, he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was a good idea to leave the bedroom door open, but he had no control over the bathroom door. That was Reid’s decision, and if locking it gave him a sense of security and privacy, than so be it. He couldn’t deny him that basic right, and if allowing him a bit of alone time meant he would come to trust Morgan, it was a no brainer. It was difficult to imagine that Reid wouldn’t trust him or any male figure in his life after what had happened, but he knew that was always a risk when sexual assault was a factor.

Reid was such a strong individual though, he had been through so much and had overcome it all, practically by himself, and it was an aspect of Spencer that he had come to admire so much. In the Bureau, alpha males dominated the scene, yet Reid in all of his awkward, meek glory, could put them in their place with just a few words. He was able to express his strength in a way that wasn’t purely physical, and it was an ability that not many people were capable of doing.

Derek busied himself with calling in their food while finishing off his first mug of coffee, having memorized Reid’s order from how often they had takeout while on working on active cases or nights where the team spent time together. Though it was common for the host to serve dinner, it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for them all to just order in to spare them the difficulty of serving food that met all of their specific dietary needs and restrictions. Garcia was a vegetarian and Prentiss had a thing against gluten, and when the two of them were together, sometimes it was just easier.

After the order had been placed and delivered twenty minutes later, Derek was growing concerned with Spencer’s prolonged absence. He understood that he needed some alone time, but this didn’t seem like the normal behavior of someone who had just been assaulted, especially someone like Spencer. Spencer was a private person, he had been ever since Derek met him. Hell, it took him two years to open up about his own mother. Morgan was still concerned though, and he knew that someone who had been through what Spencer had been through should not be alone for extended periods of time. He knew that there was a connection between poor emotional health and trauma, as well as bursts of suicide in victims of rape, which Reid probably had a statistic for. But now was not the time to dwell on numbers — he needed to check on his friend.

The sound of glass shattering only urged him forward, the bedroom door hitting the wall as Derek burst in and began to pound his fist against the door separating him from Spencer. He heard nothing on the other side except for some shuffling, and that combined with the previous sound of glass shattering was enough to increase his heart rate to an alarming level.

“Spencer, what happened? Talk to me, man,” Morgan begged desperately, his fist hurting from the continuous wrapping against the door. The silence that followed was his breaking point, and with a deep breath, Derek kicked the door in. He wasn’t worried about replacing it — at least that _could_ be fixed. Spencer was irreplaceable.

  
The sight that greeted him was disturbing enough for Morgan to freeze. He didn’t do that. Not even in the field where he saw the darkest parts of humanity did he freeze up, but the image of Reid’s hand, shaking so badly, yet managing to confidently poise a glass shard against his opposite wrist wasn’t something that he needed an eidetic memory to remember for the rest of his life. Within an instant, he darted forward, wrestling with Spencer for only a millisecond before he threw that shard of glass away like it was poison. He gathered the smaller body in his arms, ignoring the sensation of rabid nails scratching at his forearms.

_“No!”_ Reid’s voice reverberated through his bones, _“No, what did you do?!”_

It was a sound of such despair, such anguish, and to hear it in the form of Reid’s voice was soul-stirring, inhuman. This wasn’t Spencer. This was an imposter, a doppelgänger here to fool him into believing that Spencer had truly fallen so far from grace in such a short span of time.

“Shh… It’s gonna be okay… You’re gonna be okay…” He heard himself murmur, reminding himself involuntarily of the very moment he held Reid's dying body in his arms, hushing him and encouraging him to breathe. He was ashamed of himself — he had failed Spencer.

How had he not noticed? The lack of words and the occasional ignoring altogether should have been enough for Morgan to realize that something was seriously off. Spencer could talk your head off without even intending to if you let him, so his avoidance of speech was something that should have screamed abnormality to Morgan. But it didn’t. He assumed it was just a natural reaction from the trauma. He should have known better.

“I just want it to stop… Why won’t it stop?…” God, it was equivalent to physical pain. He wished he could take it all away, take everything that Reid was experiencing and place it upon himself. He would never wish for another person to feel so badly, and while he wasn’t quite in the same position as Reid, he knew what it was like to be taken advantage of and used for the pleasure of another man. Of course, it had never been quite so violent, but it still effected him to this day even if it had been years and years ago. Reid didn’t deserve this. He was such a good man; a fascinating, brilliant, and extraordinary man that Morgan had fallen so hard for in a matter of days. To see someone so precious fall apart was horrific, and it truly reminded Morgan how dark their world really was. Yet, despite the innocence that Reid had retained throughout his years in this field, it changed them all, and Reid was no exception to that.

“I don’t know,” Morgan finally said, mainly because he didn’t. He didn’t know why it wouldn’t stop, nor did he know if it ever would. But he could at least promise that he would be there no matter the outcome. He wouldn’t let Reid suffer alone as he did, because in reality, that was the worst part of it all. Once the other man had stilled and quieted down, Morgan moved, gathering the small form in his arms and lifting him up without much difficulty. Reid was as tall as he was, but he was barely over one twenty-five. He had always been skinny and lanky though, but perhaps that was an aspect of his beauty that Morgan found captivating; how such a slim man could carry himself so gracefully was almost blasphemy, and Morgan would be lying if he said he had never imagined his hands tracing every inch of that slim body.

He brought Reid into the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed and murmuring softly to him as he tended to his wounds. He cleaned the blood from his body, hardly even focusing on the fact that he was still naked since he was more so concerned with his safety. Nevertheless, Morgan wrapped a large towel around his bare shoulders to spare a bit of his dignity. One by one, the glass shards in his hands and feet were pulled out with a pair of tweezers, and Morgan said his apologies and reassurances with every hiss and wince that followed. He bandaged the hand that had struck the mirror, brushing his thumb over Reid’s knuckles fondly and looking up to see those sad haze eyes looking back at him. He didn’t say anything though, opting to bite his tongue in order to prevent saying something he would later come to regret.

He guided Reid towards the head of the bed, encouraging him to lay down and simply watching him as he let his head rest against the pillow. He had never felt his heart ache for someone so desperately, especially not another man. Derek was as straight as they came, and he wouldn’t quite disagree with the label of womanizer. But Reid ignited a new flame within him that couldn’t be contained. It was built from such a newfound sense of longing for another human being that left Morgan wanting more and more. It threatened to squeeze the life out of him drop by drop should he ignore it, but now was not the time. He could handle being drained if that meant Reid would feel safe. Moving too quickly was dangerous, and taking advantage of someone in a poor state of mind was not what Morgan wanted. He wanted to take his time with Reid, praise every inch of his body like he were a gift in itself, and worship the very humanness that made them all nothing more than specks of dust in the breeze. To take into account every speck of Spencer’s existence and hold it over a warm flame, igniting the fire that lived within him too so that they may burn together as one golden brilliance. A relationship couldn’t be a relationship if focus was solely on the sexual aspect. It couldn’t work, simply because there was so much more to a person than their sexuality. Reid was a perfect example of that fact. They were all sexual beings, including Reid, but to appreciate someone simply because they were alive was a piece of humanity that had evaded society a long, long time ago.

Despite his previous warning that moving quickly was dangerous, once Reid was laying down, Morgan soon joined him, and they magnetized each other until they were one, limbs tangling and bodies slipping together in a mess of emotions and complicated thoughts that neither had the energy to confront. Derek didn’t mind, and neither did Spencer, and perhaps that was all that really mattered. He didn’t know when it happened, but sooner rather than later, they both fell into a peaceful slumber, and Spencer let his mind fall into an endless oblivion.

* * *

Spencer wasn’t sure how long they had slept, but eventually, he came to his senses and the memory of what happened was revived. He was ashamed of himself, embarrassed even, more so that Morgan had to see him like that as opposed to the fact that he had nearly offed himself in his bathroom. He groaned softly, the pain reverberating through his body and ricocheting through his skeleton like a buckshot. He grew aware of the pain in his hands and looked down, seeing a bandage wrapped around his right palm and another around his left wrist. He wondered what Derek thought of him now; if he was able to realize just how weak Spencer had become over the years.

But that wasn’t enough, clearly. The arms around him said otherwise, and the gentle puff of air warming the back of his neck proved to him that Derek didn’t think any less of him. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, and he tried his best to prevent the tears from falling, succeeding for several minutes only to fail when Derek’s arms squeezed around his torso. His hands rested over top of Morgan’s which had found their place on his body, one pressed over his stomach and the other his chest, like he were afraid to let go of him. Reid whimpered softly while a silent sob shook his body, his belly clenching to avoid making any further noises. He didn’t want to disturb Morgan — he was probably as exhausted as Reid was.

  
But it was too late for that. Derek was stirring behind him and another squeeze made him realize that Morgan was awake, his body instantly seeming to move backwards and away from him. Spencer hated this. It was like Derek got closer than he actually wanted to, and viewed holding Spencer closely as some sort of mistake. The tangency between them disappeared, and he had never felt so alone.

“Reid,” Morgan said behind him, his arms withdrawn entirely, but a large, warm hand rubbed up and down his bare arm soothingly, as if he were a skittish puppy, threatening to run away at any given moment. But Spencer wasn’t going anywhere — where could he go without facing himself again? “We need to talk about what happened in there.”

No. No, they didn’t, and Reid didn’t _want_ to nor did he want to even _think_ about what had happened. What he had _done._ He was both ashamed and disappointed; ashamed that he had been caught and disappointed that he hadn’t succeeded. He felt so empty, and while he knew this was just a coward’s way out, he didn’t know if he could go on feeling this way. His body had been carved out of its organs and other bodily forms, and all that remained was the hollow shell of skin and bone, the blood sinking to his feet and pulling him down to the ground he wanted so badly to be buried under. His eyes fluttered briefly, and soon, he was pushing himself up and sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare back to Morgan.

He didn’t say anything, assuming that Morgan would take his silence as a strict refusal. He stood up without much shame, since the self-worth he once carried in his naked body had been stripped away and left a catastrophe in its place. He was _disgusting._ Couldn’t Morgan see it too?

He stepped towards the dresser, slipping a pair of boxer briefs. He disappeared in his choice of sweatpants, an oversized tee shirt, and a heavy cardigan, wanting to hide as much of himself as possible since he was disturbed by his physical form. Spencer glanced at Morgan from where he stood, seeing he had sat up on the edge of the bed. He held a concerned expression on his face, but Spencer didn’t let it perturb him. Instead, it served as a reminder of how fucked up he was now — he could never be Dr. Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit again. That person was gone, hidden away in the back of his mind where he would most likely stay forever. Now, he was just Spencer. Spencer, who fallen down once again and was beyond the point of saving. He was a lost cause. The sooner Morgan realized that the better off he would be.

Slender hands found their way to his cardigan, which he wrapped tightly around himself as if to protect him from any potential danger. He never wanted any of his friends to see him like this, and it was eerily familiar to the way he had acted when he was high out of his mind on Dilaudid. He was always alone in his apartment when it happened, floating around as a ghost of himself while the drugs took him to a place that felt like heaven, but was really just a false illusion of the world he wished to see. He looked to Morgan with such a dullness in his eyes that truly didn’t belong, and the silence between them was deafening.

“I can’t,” Reid spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes lowering as Morgan stood and filled the space between them until there was barely a foot between them. “I’ll fall apart again.”

“And that’s okay,” Morgan said softly, raising a hand up and resting it on Spencer’s shoulder, squeezing gently and letting it slide down to hold his bicep, acting as a physical sense of stability that Spencer didn’t realize he needed. “Fall apart if you want to; if you need to. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you this is going to be easy, because it’s not. It’s going to be difficult, but the Reid I know is stronger than this. I’ve _seen_ it.”

  
“What if I’m not?” Spencer asked desperately, his eyes raising, fresh trails of tears raining down his face. Morgan still thought he was beautiful. “What if I fall apart and I’m not able to put myself back together again?”

“Then I will,” Morgan promised, grasping Spencer’s hand with his own free hand and holding it between them. “I’ll spend the rest of my life putting you back together if I have to, Spencer.”

“Why?” Reid breathed, his lips trembling. It was getting harder to breathe between speaking and holding in the sobs.

“Because I adore you,” Morgan avowed, his own voice dropping to a mere whisper as their hands pressed together, fingers interlocking tightly until he could feel Reid’s pulse thrumming against his own digits. It was a recompense he never thought he would be making, especially not with Reid, but it was important, and he knew Spencer could see that. Else he wouldn’t have squeezed back and silenced himself to simply bask in the vow that was made to him. It felt possible to breathe again, only because he saw the truth lingering in Derek’s eyes. As long as those eyes held only him in their gaze, he believed it was possible to unburn the ashes.

And with that in mind, Spencer let himself weep.


	7. Story of a Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romance blossoms; Spencer and Derek talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to let you all know how much I appreciate you! Also, feel free to leave feedback and constructive criticism.
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

Leaving Bloomington without catching the unsub was a loss. After Reid’s hospitalization, all traces of Paul MacMillan had seemingly disappeared. Everything he owned remained in his house, untouched, including his wallet with his identification, his cellphone, and his service handgun. It looked like he had simply vanished — he had drove his car about fifteen miles away from his house but it was found abandoned on the shoulder of I-69. He was gone, and without a trace. Garcia did all that she could but when he searching came up with nothing but dead ends, the case was officially put on hold. The BAU had more cases that needed their attention, with active killers who needed to be stopped. They couldn’t linger on one case for too long, else they would be failing their duty to serve and protect.

Hotch informed Strauss of Reid’s situation, and despite her typical harshness, she gave him two weeks of paid leave, mainly because Reid never used his vacation days anyway and the Bureau valued him as an agent and professor. Hotch relayed this information to Morgan, who in turn told Spencer, and Spencer seemed somewhat dejected by the idea of having to say inside for two weeks. It had only been twenty-four hours since Morgan brought him to stay with him and he was already going stir crazy. He wanted to get back to work and forget that any of this ever happened, and while the psych evaluation wasn’t a concern for him (mainly because he played a part in writing the questions) but he knew that his colleagues would be able to tell that he was a bit off.

Reid still had yet to address the bathroom incident with Morgan. He would draw that out as long as he possibly could, mainly because it was too sensitive and he didn’t want to think about it. The suicidal thoughts didn’t go away, but fortunately Morgan didn’t let him out of his sight. The previous night, Morgan never left Spencer’s room, and Spencer cried himself to sleep in Morgan’s embrace. He wasn’t sure how the coming night would play out, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be sleeping alone.

“Since we didn’t get to eat dinner last night, the takeout I ordered can be lunch today,” Morgan said, standing over the stove while Reid seated himself at the island. Whatever it was he was cooking smelled really good, but Spencer hadn’t had much of an appetite after what happened. Even thinking of eating made him nauseous, and as much as he loved coffee, he couldn’t live off of it. He needed sustenance of some sort, and if forcing himself to eat just a bit was what he had to do, then so be it. 

Neither he nor Morgan had mentioned what happened, all he knew was that they had spent the entirety of the evening and the night together in bed. They both needed the rest after a stressful case like that, and it was always more exhausting when it was personal. Spencer was okay with not talking about it though. He had kept his love for the other man a secret after all of these years, so what difference would it make if he chose to stay quiet a bit longer? He was so infatuated with Derek, but that too was intent on staying bottled up and hidden away. Except…

_“Because I adore you.”_

_I adore you_ … What a powerful way to express care for another individual. But still, it wasn’t _love_ and it never would be _love_ because that wasn’t the kind of man Derek Morgan was. Spencer should know, after all. Being in love with someone often meant knowing them pretty well, and Spencer could attest to that. Derek wasn’t a very unpredictable person. Sure, he had his secrets just like everyone else, but his behavior almost always reflected his emotions, so reading him was never difficult for Reid. He knew when he was angry, because his brows would furrow, his eyes would narrow and occasionally his hands would ball up into fists at his sides. Sadness and surprise almost went together, because Morgan’s eyes widened for both and his lips would part just slightly as if he were trying to find words to say but failed every time. Happy was a given, considering Morgan wasn’t shy to show off his handsome smile. But nervousness was always a bit difficult to interpret. Morgan didn’t have any tics like wringing his hands or biting his nails, so perhaps the best way to tell if he was anxious was when he didn’t show any emotion at all.

Now was one of those times. Morgan didn’t seem displeased, per se, but he was in a mood that was akin to neutrality over anything else; maybe with a touch of sadness lingering in his slower-than-usual movements. Reid’s eyes followed his every move, mainly because watching Morgan was such an imposing figure, and his every movement had a purpose behind it, an internal force encouraging him to move exactly that way. Spencer would rather watch Morgan out in the field than read Chaucer.

“Clooney should be here any time now,” he heard Morgan say, not to him in particularly, simply aloud as if speaking what came to mind. “I told her nine, and it’s five till. I know you aren’t a big fan of dogs, Reid, but Clooney is just an oversized puppy.”

“I never said I didn’t like dogs,” Spencer spoke up, his index finger tracing over the mug’s curved handle delicately, as if pressing too hard would break the ceramic piece. “They don’t typically like me.”

A statistic floated across his mind of the commonality of cynophobia, or fear of dogs, but he couldn’t find it in him to say anything. Derek couldn’t possibly care about the percentage of people in the United States with cynophobia, nor the specific ratios of age brackets. It was most common in children, specifically between the ages of five and nine, but again, _who cared_? Spencer remembered reading somewhere that animal phobias in general were more common in women than in men, and that fear was developed only on behalf of three specific conditions; direct personal experience, observational experience, and informational or instructional experience. Maybe that was why being alone was turning into such a nightmare for Spencer. He had experienced trauma alone, fitting the criteria of direct personal experience. But also, he had _seen_ the effects of trauma, through observation and educational purposes. He wouldn’t say he was _afraid_ of being alone, but it definitely instilled a sense of discomfort within him that aligned with the 4 D’s of abnormality; distress, dysfunction, deviance, and dangerousness. Spencer had never been _normal,_ but his self-diagnosing was only making it easier for him to see himself as an abnormality.

“Clooney likes everyone,” Morgan tried to reason, but he knew that at this point it was beginning to turn in to a lost cause. Reid had withdrawn into himself again, looking down into his coffee with an expression so blank that Morgan nearly flinched at the sight. It wasn’t as terrifying as last night though. Seeing Reid on his knees in the middle of the bathroom floor with glass digging into his wrist was enough to send a shiver up his spine, and instead of dwelling on the obvious problem at hand, he instead opted to finish up breakfast, making two plates of eggs, bacon, and toast. He sat them down on the kitchen island, perching himself on the stool across from Reid and beginning to eat. Reid never was a big eater, and even though in the past he initiated many of their outings to get dinner, he never ate everything. In fact, for as long as Derek had known Spencer, he had never seen him clear a plate.

Now was no exception. Reid played with his food more than he ate it, picking at the eggs and taking no more than two bites out of a piece of buttered toast. Spencer _tried_ , he really did, but it was difficult to stomach food, and so after eating about a fourth of the eggs and a piece of bacon, he gestured that he was finished by gently knocking the plate forward. Morgan didn’t pressure him, thankfully, and instead opted to steal the remaining pieces of bacon for himself.

Spencer stood and began to collect their dishes, and other than an odd look from Derek, proceeded as he normally would if he were home and began to wash the dishes. Derek figured it was a normal action for him, and if Reid was dealing with a feeling of displacement, perhaps this was good for him. The door bell ringing caught his attention and he hurried to the door where he was instantly greeted by a whining Clooney and his next door neighbor, Lillian. She was a middle aged woman, her dark hair beginning to grey at the roots but her eyes retaining a refreshing sense of youthfulness that lit up the rest of her round face, the wrinkles around her mouth only going to show how often she smiled. Clooney jumped up on his hind legs, greeting his owner with paws on his lower belly as he yipped and whined for attention.

  
“He was an angel as always,” Lillian said with a warm smile, undoing the leash from Clooney’s collar and handing it to Derek who thanked her kindly. “Let me know when you need me to watch him again.”

“Thank you, Lilly. Have a good night,” Derek thanked the woman again before closing the door when she headed back to her house just beside his own. Spencer stood awkwardly in the entry way connecting the living room to the kitchen, a hand on the wall as he looked at the dog. Clooney immediately dropped down from Derek and wiggled over to Spencer, his tail wagging rapidly while he jumped up on Spencer, effectively knocking the young man down to the ground until he had a rampant dog in his face, licking him ferociously. And then, a sound that Derek didn’t think he would ever hear again tickled his eardrums, and he was looking down at Reid as if he had performed a miracle.

He giggled, and Derek could only describe the melody as angelic. It was beautiful, and he crouched down next to Spencer once Clooney had decided to leave the man alone. Reid was out of breath, laying on his back while his eyes landed on Derek, a smile curling up the corners of his lips. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his hair spread across the kitchen floor with his arms fallen on either side of his head. Spencer didn’t realize how absolutely stunning he was, and the warmth that burned within Derek’s chest was an immediate reminder of his feelings for Spencer. No words were shared between them, and soon, Derek found himself dipping down, his hands finding Spencer’s. They fit together, as they were meant to be, and they simply gazed at one another, the distance between them getting smaller and smaller until there was just a single oxygen molecule and finally, their lips pressed together and their hands squeezed as one.

It didn’t last but a few seconds, and Morgan was the one to separate first. He didn’t say anything at all; he didn’t need to. He raised Spencer’s left hand, pressing his lips over the bandage wrapped around his wrist while keeping their eyes connected. Spencer tried so hard not to cry, but tears of a different essence fell, and even though he was laying on the floor of Derek’s kitchen, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I adore you,” Derek repeated in a soft murmur, lips brushing over Reid’s palm, and choirs of angels sang. Spencer smiled again, a fragile thing, and let his eyes close briefly as he turned to nuzzle his cheek against their joined hands beside his head.

“As do I,” Spencer whispered. A flash of a pearly white grin was all of the encouragement that Spencer needed, and he arched his back upwards until their lips met again. It was still soon, far too soon and the events of the past week were still raw on their consciouses, but it didn’t matter. Spencer had experienced moments like this in his dreams, and he never imagined it to actually happen. Here was Morgan, kissing him and gracing his body with his touch. He held him in the palm of hands, carrying him like he were of sacred origin. How lucky he was that the world had created a man as beautiful as Derek Morgan and given him the eyes to see him.

“Let’s get you off the floor, hm?” Derek hummed, chuckling a bit as Spencer just rolled his eyes. They stood though, and Morgan practically lifted Spencer to his feet before just standing with him and basking in the warmth of someone so precious. They gazed at each other for what seemed like forever, but soon enough, that forever came to an end. Mitosis tore them apart, leaving them as two bodies with identical desires, identical feelings, yet they were unaware of each other, simply existing as two separate entities.

“Do you really mean it?” Spencer asked quietly, his arms dropping uselessly back to his side since he didn’t have Derek to occupy them anymore.

“Do I mean what?” He asked quietly, tilting his head slightly and brushing his knuckles across Reid’s cheek, unable to keep himself from touching him again.

“That you… You, um… You know…” Reid murmured, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he let his gaze drop for a split second to avoid the object of his desire.

  
“That I adore you?” Derek filled in to spare Spencer the humiliation, and he raised his head meekly and swallowed nervously before bobbing his head. “I could never lie to you, Spencer.”

“Right…” Spencer mumbled softly, his lips pursing a bit as he reached a hand up to tuck his messy hair out of his face, “I wouldn’t lie to you either.”

“I’m glad,” Derek said, pressing his lips to Spencer’s forehead before gently guiding him into the living room. They sat down together, the motions assumed at this point. Reid knew what was expected of him and what Morgan wanted, and he couldn’t keep him in the dark like this. It was equivalent to emotional abuse, leaving Morgan wondering if Reid was going to attempt to take his life again, so Spencer decided to share his story.

And he did. For the first time since his rescue, he came to terms with the fact that he been raped, telling Morgan as well as reminding himself. He talked about the penetration, how he didn’t fight. The symbolic knife cutting into his soul and leaving him in shreds of his former self. The way his brittle body vibrated against that wooden floor, his legs spread like a butterfly’s wings. The death of a butterfly was a cursed beauty. Some pieces of him had been lost to MacMillan, and he would never get them back, but Morgan was certain that he could fill in the gaps on his own.

The abuse of his mouth was just as difficult, because he had only resisted for a few seconds before his lips parted and he took what was given to him, like he made for it. Even though he had been carved open like a cattle at slaughter, the sexual trauma was far worse, even more than the stabbing itself. MacMillan had left him there to die, a knife plunged into his body while he bled out, yet somehow, the physical pain wouldn’t be what haunted him at night. He recounted the sensations of his wavering connection to the physical world, but fighting through it since he could hear the sirens in the distance.

And then came the events of last night. All of the events seemed to plague him at once, infecting his nervous system until he was frozen with only one way out of his icy prison — suicide. Suicidal thoughts came easily to people suffering from depression, and Spencer had been fragile to the seemingly pleasant idea of taking the pain away on his own. He broke down halfway through the discussion of his attempt, but Morgan held his hands and encouraged him to continue to the end, and Spencer did, through the tears.

  
“With how much I’ve cried these past few days, I’m surprised I haven’t passed out from dehydration yet,” Spencer tried to joke, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Morgan who let go of one of Spencer’s hands in favor of rubbing it along his shoulders and down his back until it rested firmly in the curve of his spine.

“You’ve drank enough coffee for the entire team,” Derek said, and Spencer smiled again. Derek took time then to just process all that Spencer had told him, and he knew that if he were in the younger man’s place, he wouldn’t have been brave enough to share his story. Hell, he _was_ in Spencer’s place in a way, considering the team had only found out about the abuse from his childhood because he had been forced to talk about it. Spencer came out with it himself, all on his own, and that took courage that Derek would never have.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Derek said, and the way Spencer looked at him spoke volumes. His brows curved inwards, his lids opened a bit wider, and those perfectly kissable lips tugged upwards into a faint smile. It was an expression first constructed out of disbelief and then it transformed into a beautiful form of reverence that Morgan had never seen touch another human’s features. Derek didn’t have to promise Spencer that he would love him. The sun shined, even among the darkest of clouds, and a promise wasn’t necessary to keep it burning — it was fated to burn. And like the sun, Derek was fated to love Spencer until he could burn no more. And then Spencer spoke, and there was nothing that could compare to the way those words rolled off of his tongue.

“I know.”


	8. The Journey Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blossom of something precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of the first part of my Fragments of You series. I hope you enjoyed and I always appreciate feedback!
> 
> And as always, please heed the warnings.

One week down, another one to go. The first week had been uneventful, excluding every intimate moment between him and Derek. Every day, they got up to eat breakfast and immediately after Derek went for his morning run and Spencer finished off a book or two. They would relax for a bit until lunch came around at which they were snack around until Spencer dozed off. Then when dinner came around they would share a meal again. On the third day, Spencer actually felt up to going to a restaurant to eat, and Derek constantly praised his bravery and told him how proud he was. Truthfully, Spencer felt like he slept and ate the majority of the time. He would be surprised if he didn’t gain weight after all of this, even if his appetite was still relatively small.

After the first week though, Morgan decided to return to work, but that was only after having a long discussion with Spencer about his mental state. He wasn’t healed, that was for damned sure, but he was getting better. He would never be the man he had been before all of this, and Morgan understood that, which made it easier for him to assure Derek that he would be fine. But, they reached an agreement of sorts; By the time Derek returned to work, Spencer would make an appointment with a therapist. He needed to talk about it, that was the only way he could move on from this experience healthily. Reluctantly he agreed, despite his dislike for therapy, but he would do anything for Derek, and if he wanted him in therapy, he would do it. He had attempted it after the Hankel incident, but that had only strengthened his dependency on Dilaudid. Speaking of that… Reid had been dealing with minor cravings recently as well, which he confided in Derek, who also encouraged him to attend an NA meeting or two, just to get his head back in place. He did that the same night it was mentioned, returning to the group for clean cops. Because there, they all understood. There were no labels and there was no judgement from them, and by the end he was in tears but he was still applauded for having the audacity to share his story.

On the first day alone, Spencer woke up in the bed without Derek by his side. They had been sleeping together, nothing sexual of course, since they both knew that Spencer wasn’t ready for any of that yet. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready, honestly, but he was trying to return to normality one step at a time, with Derek by his side of course. He had an appointment with an actual therapist today, and he was both eager and nervous at the same time to see someone. He hadn’t seen a therapist in quite a long time — it had been several years, because after Tobias plummeted his world in darkness, he only saw a therapist for a few weeks before deciding to stop since it wasn’t really changing anything. While most people assumed that therapy was necessary and helpful for everyone, that wasn’t always the case. For Spencer, who was a naturally private and independent person, it was not of use to him, and it probably did more harm than good in the long run. But this incident was different, and he knew that even with Derek by his side, he needed different outlets. Perhaps therapy and NA would provide that for him; provide for him the kind of security that Derek couldn’t give him alone, as much as he wished he could.

The appointment went smoother than he thought it would too. The psychiatrist, Dr. Leah Vinel, was a kind women, not much older than him, and she spoke to him like he were an old friend. It was comforting, and she held no judgment when asking questions or inviting him to elaborate more on his feelings. Talking with her came naturally to him, which wasn’t normal for Spencer since he was usually as awkward as could be around other people, especially strangers. It had taken him awhile to open up to his colleagues, so the fact that he was telling a complete stranger about his most intimate and private moments was a huge milestone for Spencer.

By the end of the session, she expressed to him that she wanted him to start taking antidepressants, and even though Spencer was usually opposed to prescriptions for himself, he agreed since he couldn’t be stubborn forever. He was a doctor himself, and he knew the benefits of such drugs, but to him, taking drugs was like admitting failure — and maybe that was what he needed. Admitting you had a problem was the first way to address said problem, so this was good for Spencer.

Dr. Vinel, or Leah, as she preferred, also said she believed he was suffering from PTSD as a result of rape trauma syndrome, a common reaction to rape or sexual assault. Also, because of his aversion to touch (more so than usual), she said it was possible he was suffering from a mild form of haphephobia, an anxiety disorder characterized by the fear of being touched. His aversion to touch in the past was usually egged on by his slight germaphobia, but now, it was often difficult to handle touch when he didn’t initiate it himself. It made him incredibly uncomfortable and anxious, unless it was Morgan… He wasn’t intimidated by Derek, so maybe that was why he didn’t bother him as much — but the fact that he was deeply in love with Morgan also dissipated the fear of being touched by him.

After picking up his prescription from the pharmacy, Spencer made it home, and by then it was already five in the evening. He was feeling refreshed, oddly enough, and he decided to surprise Derek with dinner. He hadn’t been of much use around the house, besides the occasional times he washed their few dishes, but he wanted to show Derek he appreciated him somehow other than physicality, and so he set about cooking a pasta dinner — a recipe he learned from Rossi, no doubt. He gathered the ingredients, set the noodles on to boil, made the sauce by hand, and by the time Morgan walked through the door, he was plating the meals for the two of them, Clooney weaving in between Reid’s slim legs as he moved through the kitchen like he owned the place.

Derek was surprised to say the least, and he nearly dropped his bag at the sight of Reid in his kitchen fixing dinner for him like a housewife. A beautiful, utterly perfect housewife, of course. It was so oddly domestic though, and he didn’t know what to say other than smile and approach Reid with an expression of pride and joy lighting up his features.

“Hey, you,” he said fondly, dropping his coat over the back of one of the stools and holding his hands out towards Reid, not touching him until the other man stepped into him as a sign of his permission. Morgan’s hands brushed over his shoulders and down his biceps, stopping at the curve of his elbow while Reid’s hands came to rest over Derek’s forearms.

“Hey,” Spencer said softly in response, slender fingers brushing over Morgan’s dark, muscled skin, “Welcome home.”

_Domestic_.

“It’s good to be home,” Derek said, watching Spencer as he pulled away to resume his task, opening up the oven and slipping a mitt on to collect the garlic bread, setting the slices on a plate in the center of the island. He could get used to seeing Spencer after work everyday, but he knew that Spencer couldn’t go on like this forever. He was too brilliant to be stuck as a housewife, and Derek would be cruel to wish that on him. He preferred seeing Spencer in the heat of the moment, brainstorming in a conference room with papers spread around him and several empty coffee cups littering the table, or seeing him in front of a map, lithe hands delicately pressing a push-pin into the paper like he were threading the eye of a needle.

“How was work?” Spencer asked, even going so far as to retrieve a bottle of red wine from the fridge that Derek hadn’t even touched yet, smiling suggestively as he held it up. Derek chuckled and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t protest as Spencer poured him a glass.

“Good, it was good. Well, other than Strauss breathing down our necks and Hotch being a bitch about the reports. I actually have to do them all now that you’re on leave,” Morgan said, surprised that Reid was pouring himself a glass of wine as well. Spencer had never been much of a drinker, usually only doing so socially and even then, he limited himself to two drinks at the most. Now that Derek thought about it, he had never seen Spencer drunk, or even buzzed for that matter.

“That just serves as a reminder of how much you miss me,” Spencer shot back teasingly, a smile touching his full lips. The two ate peacefully, Spencer talking about his day as well and sharing with Derek that he had been put on an antidepressant, as well as his new diagnoses. It was something he needed to know about, even if their relationship was still quite new. They were just beginning to test the waters, never going further than occasional pecks or hugs. Derek didn’t want to pressure Spencer, and Spencer wasn’t comfortable with much more. He was feeling bold tonight though, and while he wasn’t necessarily opposed to having sex, perhaps cuddling and kissing was a better direction to go in, since he was still healing — physically and mentally.

After they ate, Derek offered to do the dishes since Spencer had cooked, and he was more than okay with that. Treating him as an equal was something that definitely made him feel a little better, mainly because it instilled within him a sense of belonging in Derek’s house. He had made a trip to his own apartment in the last week to pick up a few things, mainly more books, but he returned right back to Derek’s place since that was there he felt safest. He was hesitant of the world right now, and the thought of being alone made him fearful for a repeat of the events which were still so fresh on his mind.

Spencer made his way into the living room where he sat down in his corner of the couch, reaching for a book he left on the side table, unfinished from his reading this morning. He tucked his long legs up close until he was a comfortable ball and began to read, hardly even noticing when Morgan joined him and sat down on the couch as well, yet not in his own separate corner two cushions over. Instead, he sat beside him, an arm resting on the back of the couch as he leaned in to investigate the book that Reid was reading.

“James Baldwin, huh?” Morgan questioned, a smirk growing on his lips as he saw a smile curve Reid’s lips upwards as well. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?” He questioned, considering Baldwin was a relatively newer author compared to Reid’s typical Balzac and Proust. Reid didn’t respond to his teasing question, sighing almost dreamily as a dainty finger brushed down the worn page.

“His writing is beautiful,” Reid defended lightly, hardly focusing on Derek and stopping when he reached the line he had been searching for, despite already knowing it by heart. “‘Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.’”

Spencer looked up then, his eyes casting a warm light of hope in them that had been absent less than a week ago. Derek felt like he might disappear should he stare any longer, but Spencer’s beauty made it impossible to look away — so why on earth would he want to? It seemed as though everything came together perfectly, as in the way a star was born. Spencer had been lost; an endless nebula of gas and dust, tears and blood, until he reached a perfect balance, a perfect balance of gravity and force until, from that cluster of confusion and gas, a star was born. Derek realized then that Spencer was his star, his _sun_ , and so long as he was fated burn, Derek would be fated to love him.

Their lips met again, although neither could really tell who initiated it since it was a joined effort. The sensation of being loved by another was unrivaled amongst other feelings, and Spencer still could hardly believe he was on the receiving end. _Giovanni’s Room_ fell from his hands, who were in favor of touching Derek instead. The touch of Spencer’s hands on his chest was electrifying, and Derek felt his body moving of its own accord, as if every cell in his body had been programmed for this very moment. The blood in his veins circulated for Spencer alone, and as they went lower, his blood followed suit. Derek felt down the curve of Spencer’s back, stopping just above the hem of his pants but proceeding to pull him close until he could come no closer.

“Derek…” Spencer murmured softly against his lips, those half lidded eyes inspiring a fruition with him. He gathered Reid in his arms, holding him close yet delicately, as if he were paralyzed by the fear of Spencer simply disappearing and returning to his former gaseous state, but he did not, and Derek couldn’t be more pleased.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Derek whispered in response some moments later, their lips still seeking one another out, even as Derek rose from the couch with Spencer wrapped around him.

Spencer didn’t know when it happened, but they made it to Derek’s room, and he was placed upon the bed with utmost care and delicacy. Derek stood at the foot of the bed, drinking in the magnificent sight of Spencer, beautiful and flushed, and waiting for him. The universe took its time with Spencer, crafting him into one brilliant individual so distinct from others, and he held within him the power to sway Derek with a wave of his finger. Derek would make sure that Spencer knew he was capable of moving oceans.

Clothes were lost, hands were roaming, and soon, Spencer was lost in the oblivion of pleasure and Derek. Derek empowered him with a beautiful expression of love that curled his toes and brought intimate words to his lips. His hands perch on Derek’s broad shoulders, his chocolate complexion contrasting greatly to Spencer who nearly blended in with the sheets. But Derek wouldn’t have him any other way. He lost himself in that creamy white skin, lips kissing everywhere, and Spencer’s narrative only served as fuel to the fire. Legs parted as butterfly wings once more, but Derek did not tear him apart in his vulnerable state. This required trust, and Spencer was bursting with it.

Skin slid against skin, and Derek opened up Spencer like he were unspooling a cassette, and Spencer poured everything out to Derek. Cocks bare and dripping, hands soft and hesitant, both were traveling into unknown territory with each other but they didn’t let the fear or nerves keep them away from each other. The bed sheets rifled underneath of them, hands tangling together and pressing down into the mattress as they kissed again until their lungs screamed for oxygen. Derek feared that if he closed his eyes, Spencer would vanish from reality. But when Derek pulled away, the smile on Spencer’s lips and those gorgeous hazel eyes were all the proof he needed that Spencer was living, breathing, and _here_ with him.

“Derek, I-I need—“ Spencer didn’t get the chance to continue, because a hand wrapped around the base of his cock squeezed upwards and he was left gasping for air.

“Tell me what you need,” Derek murmured softly, smiling at the moan that passed Spencer’s lips as his thumb swiped over his tip, brushing over the slit.

“… _You_.”

Spencer couldn’t have said it any better. Derek gave him what he wanted, taking his time with him and burying himself between those milky thighs, tongue lapping at all that was offered to him and fingers bathed in lubricant plunging into Spencer’s puckered entrance. Spencer responded so beautifully to him, and the constant string of praises often followed by his name was the prettiest thing Derek had ever heard. Spencer’s hand rested on the back of his neck, slender fingers curving into his skin and urging him on the with the slightest jerks of his wrist. Thighs quivered, toes curled, and Morgan felt like he might explode should he not get the relief he so desperately craved. But thankfully, Spencer pulled him upwards and hurried him along, his impatience adorable at best since it was hard to take him seriously with his face flushed red and his hands balled into the sheets.

But it came, and when it did, it was beautiful. Spencer surrounding him in a hot tightness was something Derek had never experienced before. Spencer’s face was the true origin of his pleasure though, because Spencer didn’t hide anything. Even though the genius was typically shy and social awkward, the expressions on his face revealed every drop of pleasure, his voice going multitudes to prove that too. Spencer had been nervous about being able to handle this sort of intimacy, given what he had went through, but Derek made him feel safe, and Derek assured him several times that no matter what happened, if he needed to stop, they would stop, no questions asked, no shame. But that wasn’t necessary. Derek parted his legs like holy water and worshipped him like he was a true believer.

The breach was more painful than either man would have liked, and Spencer shed a few tears that Derek was quick to kiss away, nudging their noses together and murmuring praises to him for being so strong. Spencer didn’t know if he continued to cry because of the pleasure that rocked his body or the comforting voice above him, but in the end, he knew it was a pleasant combination of both. Despite Morgan’s size, he didn’t manhandle him by any means. He touched his skin like he were precious gold and made sure he wasn’t too rough with his thrusts, particularly because he knew that Reid was still fragile, mentally and physically. He took his time with Spencer, darks hands splayed across a soft white chest and moving to his sides where those hands smoothed downwards, thumbs dipping into the curves of his ribcage and pressing over the jut of his hipbones. He hadn’t forgotten how petite Spencer was, but seeing him in a precious state of vulnerability only served as a strong reminder that he needed to be careful with him.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered over and over again, his swollen lips parted and his tongue darting out to lick across them. Derek couldn’t resist the urge to lean down and capture them.

“I _adore_ you,” Derek whispered in response, and once again, he joined their hands together on either side of Spencer’s head.

The love they made was more than just a physical act. It was etched into their very souls, and Derek never wanted to leave the safe haven that was Spencer Reid. The ethereal effects this would have on the two of them would be life altering, but in a way, it produced a beautiful metamorphosis of two bonded bodies, connected by the soul and joined as a collective union of beauty and grace. Spencer took him so well, the contact of their hips creating a friction of pure, extracted love, and when Spencer’s back arched like _that_ and he spilled over his stomach, Derek praised him more and brought their lips together so that he could reach his own release in ecstasy. And Spencer smiled, and he turned his head to press his lips against the knuckles of their thumbs. Derek was smitten, and he hovered above him until he could no longer and moved to lay down beside Spencer, pulling him in his arms and holding him close. The night was sealed, and the moment Spencer closed his eyes, they did not open until the sun rose again.

* * *

It had been nearly two months since his near-capture in Bloomington. Those damned agents ruined him, and he was left wandering and hiding his tracks constantly in fear that he would be found. He was camped out in an old, rundown apartment building several blocks away from where he knew his lovely Spencer Reid was hiding from him. Lovely… That little bitch was the reason he was in this situation, and he would make sure that Spencer suffered. He had it coming — they all did, and by the time he was done with Dr. Spencer Reid, there would be nothing left to save.

  
They had no idea of the long road ahead, but MacMillan was ready. And he wasn't waiting any longer.


End file.
